Coffee Shop
by Kayzo
Summary: Dean's just taken on the early shift at the upscale coffee shop he works at and it's too early to be doing anything, let alone serving coffee. But of course there has to be one guy who actually comes in right after it opens-every frickin' morning. Dean would certainly be more annoyed at the disparaging comments against his coffee making skills if it weren't so godforsaken early.
1. Watery

"Oh. You're new."

Dean drags his eyes into focus. There is indeed someone at the counter waiting for him to take their order. It really is too early for this. Who the hell wants coffee at five thirty? Who the hell else is unfortunate enough to be _up_ at five thirty? This guy apparently.

"Wha'd'ya want?" Dean makes a half-hearted gesture to the menu board.

"House roast, black, large."

Dean grunts his assent and turns away to whip it up. Unfortunately, Dean works at a high end coffee shop—no instant here. This is a point that Dean normally likes, the fact that he isn't just pouring hot water into instant coffee or letting a machine do the work, this is something that only a human can do, and only a few can do well. But it is five frickin' thirty in the morning, anything that requires more brainpower than breathing is to be frowned upon, coffee making included.

Begrudgingly, Dean forces himself out of his half-asleep haze and made the coffee as quickly as his sleep addled fingers will allow—without him accidently grinding one up, that is. Once done, Dean hands over the nice ceramic mug and saucer and gets the requisite amount of money in return (exact change, must be a repeat customer; or crazy person, exact change is weird).

Then the dude, who looks more like he's just rolled out of bed than Dean, lifts the cup to his lips straight away.

"Woah!" Dean's eyes widen as he wakes more in that moment than he has within the last half hour, "careful, it's hot!"

The warning goes entirely unheeded, but there are no yelps of pain or a face scrunched up in discomfort, only a small, deep whisper of 'watery' before the man turns around and find himself a seat in the empty café.

* * *

So, as said, I went on VK, and on the 10hr plane ride home, I wrote a coffee shop AU.


	2. Weak

Over the course of the week, the same guy is always the first one in the shop, never changing his order. But Dean finds himself slowly changing his coffee making method, trying in vain to make the small whispered, sleepy criticisms non-existent. He hasn't yet mastered it entirely, but he does now know that the guy likes his coffee with half an extra scoop of coffee beans, slightly over-boiled, and with the smallest shot of vanilla extract.

The last bit had been a blind guess, but when the early-riser had made a small smile before whispering 'weak', Dean made a point to always add a bit in, even though the order never changed from straight black.

The other thing that also never changes that Dean just can't stand is the guy's habit of taking a sip right when the coffee cup is put in front of him. It hurts Dean's tongue just watching. So on the seventh day, a Thursday, a week from when Dean first started this new shift and met the daily coffee addict, he does something (stupid).

When the guy goes to lift the cup to his lips for his customary first sip, Dean places his hand across the top of the cup. The guy's eyes rise to catch Dean's in surprise and the only thing keeping Dean from feeling like a monumental idiot is the hot steam rising from the cup, all but scalding his hand.

"You've gotta be burning your tongue, Dude, it can't be comfortable."

The customer (the goddamned _customer_, what are you _thinking_, Dean?) looks at Dean for a long moment—enough for Dean's cheeks to start heating up—before giving a small nod. Dean lets out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and takes his hand off the rim.

The guy takes the cup in both hands and brings it close to his face, taking in the heat, but he doesn't take a sip.

"Castiel." He mumbles like he mumbled 'watery', 'sweet', and 'weak' over the course of the week.

"Castiel?" Dean repeats, a little dumbfounded. Castiel nods, a bit of a mocking smile on his lips. Dean can't bring himself to care.

"Dean," he says with a smile.

Castiel's small quirk of the lips grows, "I know," he points to Dean's name-tag with one long finger without removing his hands from the cup close to his face. Then he—Castiel—is turning to find a seat before Dean can come up with a witty comeback.


	3. Sweet

The coffee house starts to pick up around seven thirty—as much as a coffee house like this can, with a DDs around the corner—as people head to their jobs, putting their fair trade coffee straight into the re-usable travel cups. Dean used to pity them and their early hours, now he envies them. Especially when he knows he might be seeing some of them this evening.

The guy who works last shift needed someone to cover, and Dean had taken it. When Jo comes in to relieve him at eleven, her smile tells him everything he needs to know, and even as he says 'Oh no, no no no', Jo's smile widens because they both know what that really means.

And so it is that the day goes by in a blur of frappuccinos and espressos, only to be interrupted by Sam showing up in between his classes with a friend of the female persuasion in tow.

("Her name's Jess, and we're just _friends,_ Dean." "Yeah, sure, but you want to be more." Dean wiggles his eyebrows. Same doesn't deny it, so Dean gives his brother his girly soy decaf latte and his 'friend's' Brazilian roast on the house.)

When the two leave to study—biology; there is no way there will not be teasing later—Dean's extra-long shift continues onward. When six comes around, the shop is almost, blessedly, empty and Dean only has another half hour of the shift from hell left.

He's already envisioning himself falling into bed with abandon when the chime at the door jangles. Just as Dean's about to mentally disparage the person coming in for coffee, he sees it's Castiel, looking more exhausted from his day than he has ever looked in the mornings. As Dean's eyes widen at the familiar tan trench coat and messy bed head, so does Castiel's.

"I did not expect to see you here at this hour," is Castiel's greeting when he gets to the counter.

"That makes two of us. What the hell do you do that makes you look that beat—wrestle bears?" Dean asks, "If you don't mind me asking," he belatedly tacks on. He's never been one for _tact_.

Castiel smiles ruefully, "nothing that exciting. I'm an administrator at Saint Claire's Mercy Hospital."

Dean whistles appreciatively, St. Claire's is one of the biggest hospitals in the region, with a well renowned team of specialty doctors and nurses.

"Any hot nurses?" Dean wiggles his eyebrow. Castiel gives him an odd, uncomprehending look and Dean immediately feels the fool. And what's more annoying is, he had no idea _why_; it isn't a particularly raunchy statement (as far as Dean goes), it isn't too inappropriate. The only thing that's making it weird is Castiel, and Dean starts to bristle, get flustered and defensive.

"I wouldn't know," Castiel cuts in before Dean can get himself worked up, (which is for the better, he is already feeling embarrassed over his reaction, hopefully Cas hadn't notice), "the nurses have far worse schedules than I," a hint of reverence works into his voice, "and work in a different part of the hospital. I've never had the need to seek them out."

Dean nods, still feeling oddly afflicted by emotions that don't correlate, so he does what Dean does when things he doesn't want to deal with come up—he changes the subject: "Pick your poison." He makes an elaborate gesture towards the coffee beans.

"House, black." Castiel answers without hesitation.

Dean nods, and is about to go through the familiar motions, if only for something to do, when something stops him.

"Where are you going after this?" Dean asks, effectively dragging Castiel away from the world of his thoughts that he slips into while Dean works.

"Home," his answer is rather startled, as if the concept of small talk is still something startlingly new. That's something Dean has only vaguely noticed before, but it's becoming more apparent. Maybe because this is the longest conversation they've ever had before.

"To sleep?" Dean knows how weird it sounds, but when Castiel just nodds, eyes wide and curious instead of narrowing, Dean just smiles.

"I'm gonna make you something a little different so you can actually get to sleep tonight, okay?" Dean knows he's taking liberties here that are not his to take, but he plows on regardless. Getting to sleep right after a strong cup of coffee (like Cas liked his) is hard, if someone's affected by caffeine or not. Dean just wants to make sure Castiel is up enough to come for his coffee in the morning.

Castiel just blinks those baby blues and tilts his head to the side, but he offers no protest, so Dean nods for the both of them and sets out to make the best coffee Castiel will ever taste.

When he's done, there's an espresso glass on the counter with hot, dark brown coffee inside, topped with a hint of foam. The strong woody smell swells through the air between them. Dean smiles. This is a fine cup of coffee.

Castiel eyes it suspiciously for a moment, glancing back and forth between the cup and Dean. Dean, for his part, let his satisfied smile widen. It doesn't seem to calm Castiel down any, but he still tentatively reaches for the cup, slowly bringing it to his lips. He blows on it softly, something that Dean is sure is for his benefit alone.

"Leave about a sip left at the end," Dean advises, "the dregs are not fun."

Castiel nods obediently and takes his first sip. Dean watches with interest and belatedly hopes he hadn't messed this up (what _this_ is, is still up for debate). Castiel's eyes got marginally wider as he allows the taste to sit on his tongue.

After swallowing, Castiel looks at the small cup as though it is akin to magic, while Dean does his best not to laugh. Castiel finally looks at Dean, and there must be a shit eating grin on his face, because color rises to Castiel's cheeks, painting the light skin a delicate pink.

"Sweet," Cas mumbles the reprimand before turning to find a seat, closer to the counter than ever before. Dean counts the greek coffee a win.

* * *

so, this took longer to type than I had originally intended, because I needed to stop and make my own greek coffee. it's so damn good. although I've yet to entirely master the subtle brewing technique that I'm sure Dean has. Although today's is the best yet!


	4. Greek

The next morning, Cas comes in a bit more bright-eyed than previous mornings. Dean grins and Castiel has the good graces to indulge him.

"It was very good."

Dean smiles wide, "knew it."

Then Dean hands over his coffee and is whisked away to serve the med student evidently cramming for exams, so their conversation stops before it really begins.

When Jo comes in at eleven, Dean is grateful to be able to take a mid-day break and ends up at his brother's campus, watching Sam be a lovesick moron as he tells Dean all about Jess over lunch. After the requisite ribbing, Dean takes a much deserved nap and makes a promise to himself to never cover the late shift at the coffee shop again if he's going to continue working night shift and the Roadhouse—those are valuable sleeping hours.

At least the evening shift is short, Dean attempts to comfort himself with the thought. But that does not make it easier to rouse himself at three to make it to the café at three thirty for his second shift. This time, when a half hour is left in his shift, Dean's not surprised when the jingle of the door precedes Castiel. Cas, for his part, still seemed mildly surprised.

"Where's Balthazar?"

Dean hadn't known he'd been smiling until he abruptly wasn't.

"Balthazar?"

Cas nods, eyes still trained on Dean, "the man usually on this shift."

Dean feels uncomfortable, which is ridiculous, "he asked for the week off."

"Ah, he'd mentioned something of the sort, but I figured it would be further out."

"You know him well?" Dean wants to hit himself. What does it matter if Cas and 'Balthazar' are buddies or not? And what is with that tone?

Castiel, God bless him, doesn't seem to notice, only blinks slowly once before speaking, "He likes to talk," neither condemning nor approving. Dean nods, shifting on his feet. It wasn't a real answer, he wants to question further. (Did _Balthazar_ ever make Cas a perfect cup before? Unlike Dean?)

Before he can stop himself with rationality or thought, a leading "yeah?" is out in the air between them, sounding too hostile and abrupt for the environment. Castiel certainly notices something change, he shifts once, slightly, head turning away, but eyes staying firmly on Dean's face as though Dean might lash out. It's wrong, because Cas doesn't look like the kind of guy to ever budge or waiver, it's a bad look on him. And Dean has accomplished that by being a dick over nothing.

"Sounds like a handful," Dean breaks the silence he'd created, smiling as best he can, then clears his throat, "Same as yesterday?"

Castiel inclines his head and Dean gets right to work for something to do. As he waits for the coffee and water to come to a boil, one hand set on the briki handle readying for that perfect moment to take it off heat, Dean adds another item to the list of why he shouldn't ever work night shift again. His mind apparently supplies a lot more dumb things than usual, and Dean seems to have no qualms with saying them.

Just as the circle of foam from the boiling coffee closes, Dean pulls it off the heat and pours it in the glass, handing over the coffee and getting a quiet 'thanks' and the money. Cas looks more, well not _relaxed_ per say, but normal, when Dean hands him the drink, and Dean's silently thankful he hasn't messed things up.

Cas takes his required first sip, looking shrewdly at Dean who waits patiently for the customary one-word criticism of his coffee making skills, and turned to sit without a word.

"What?" Dean calls after him, disbelieving, "nothing? I've made the perfect cut of coffee?" He's been working on perfecting Cas's morning order for just under three weeks now, and he still hasn't done it, and yet on just the second night, Dean's got the greek coffee down? He kinda felt jipped, even if the wide smile on his face disagrees.

Cas doesn't answer, just gives Dean a sidelong glance with those big blue eyes, framed as they are by dark lashes, and continues to sip his coffee languidly. Dean huffs and shakes his head, but he can't help glancing over at Cas again and again as the evening wares on.

* * *

I know, it's short. and it took me too long to get this up. but it's here now! and the next bit shouldn't be _too_ far off.


	5. Jack

The next morning sees Castiel getting his coffee right on time, but both are too distracted for what has become their customary small talk. Cas with the folder of papers under his arm, and Dean with the gaggle of dead-on-their-feet college students who are quick to regale their tale of woe—the horrors of bio-engineering and Professor Carson—as he plies them with caffeine. Sometimes Dean feels like a dealer.

At lunch, this time in the comfort of Sam and Dean's shared apartment, Sam confirms Prof. Carson's reputation; "I never had the class, but Jess did, that's what finally made her switch majors."

"Oh yeah?" Dean takes a bite of reheated lasagna, "what's she now?"

"Linguistics."

"Bit of a change."

Sam laughs, "Yeah, but she loves it."

"You're so in love, it's disgusting," Dean deadpans, "please tell me you've at least asked her out already."

Sam goes red. It's hilarious.

"You did!" Dean claps Sam's broad shoulder, "that's my boy!"

"It's just one date, she might not like it," Sam attempts to downplay it, but the corners of his mouth are tugging up.

Dean rolls his eyes, "please, she's smart." Sam attempts to hide his blush, the words, so matter-of-fact, are different than what Dean usually divulges. Dean chuckles.

Sam clears his throat, "What's got you in such a good mood, Dean? You haven't been like this since—since moving out here."

Since Lisa, Sam has smartly avoided saying, but the implication is there. Lisa had been Dean's first, and only (Cassie was a whole other ball game) try at an all-american relationship. Hell, he'd been ready to marry Lisa, even adopt Ben. But Lisa said no, and Dean couldn't really blame her. That had been a hard time in his life.

It's no wonder Lisa bailed, hell, Dean would have too, if he could've. His father had just died, Sam was running off west. Sam had invited Dean along, but Dean had…well nothing, it turned out, to stop him. And so he packed up his stuff (it all fit in his duffle, and sometimes Dean wonders if he was ever really planning on staying with Lisa. With anyone) and drove away.

Damn, it's been over two years. Dean hasn't explicitly thought about them in a while, but he certainly hasn't been free of the memory. He hadn't realized that invisible weight was lifted until Sam mentioned it. Dean hasn't felt the crushing guilt from that time of his life for a while—both relieving and surprising.

"I don't know man," Dean ponders, "I guess I'm just in a better place?" He isn't sure.

Sam smiles softly and before Dean can rebuke him for chick-flick moments and growing girly parts, Sam speaks;

"Whatever it is, it's working for you."

Dean rolls his eyes, but that doesn't stop the idea from turning over in the back of his mind; what's changed?

When six came around, Dean finds himself cleaning tables for nothing better to do. Six became six thirty—closing time—and Dean seriously debates keeping the place open a bit longer before snorting to himself. Besides, he needs to get ready for the Roadhouse.

Dean works at the Roadhouse four days a week. He's become good friends with the owner, Ellen, and even got her daughter Jo a job at the coffee shop. They are great, and the atmosphere at the Roadhouse is damn awesome. Best of all, people tip well. But for some reason that he couldn't place, Dean's feeling bereft and knows tonight will be a long one.

Dean is just pouring out his thirteenth glass of the local micro-brew when a familiar crop of dark hair and tired blue eyes pop up in the crowd.

"Cas?!" Dean is calling out before he thought. It takes Cas a moment—a moment where Dean realizes that he's yet to call Cas 'Cas' outside of the confines of his head—before spotting Dean and making his way over. He walks less straight than a sober man should, but the greeting 'Dean' is crisp and clear.

"I didn't know you worked here."

Dean smiles, "I didn't know you came here."

"I don't—I mean, this is my first time. A colleague mentioned it as a good place to 'wind-down'." He actually uses finger quotes. Dean can _not_ be expected to hold in all of his laughter after that. Cas just looks at him blankly and Dean clears his throat. Customer. Right.

"Tough day?"

Cas nods, sitting heavily on the bar stool. Dean covertly motions for Sarah to take over; this seems like it will take a while.

"Union issues." Cas sighed, "Nurses by law are not allowed to strike, like teachers—thank you," Cas takes a sip of the pro-offered jack, "but they've put forth their wants," Cas takes a larger gulp, head tilted back. Dean watches his adam's apple bob and wonders if Cas not feeling the burn of alcohol is related to him not minding the heat of coffee.

"And it's not like they're ridiculous or anything, but the board wants to haggle, and so we're haggling and it's never a pleasant experience—it always makes me feel so unappreciative, which I certainly am not. Nurses are, in some ways, more valuable than doctors and-and I'm babbling."

Dean, who has been listening with an interest that surprises himself, shakes his head, "Nah, it sounds interesting. Annoying as all hell, but interesting."

Cas snorts, "It's glorified paperwork."

Dean shrugs, filling Cas's empty glass again. Cas nods his appreciation and takes another long sip.

"This is good, what is it?"

Dean can't help laughing, "you sure are easier to please when it comes to drink. It's straight up Jack—you've never had it before?"

Cas drains his glass, "I don't know if I am. I've never drank before."

Dean, who's in the middle of filling the glass again, stops abruptly; "What?"

"This really is very good," Cas empties his glass again, "Can I have another?"

"H-how much have you eaten today?" Dean asks instead, '_never drank before'_ reverberating in his head.

"I had a sandwich this morning." Cas cantes his head, "…or was that yesterday?"

"You may not be a doctor, but you eat like one," Dean mumbles.

"What?"

"No, you may not have another. Jack's 80 proof. You've had about three glasses now—on an empty stomach. Oh god. I think I just plied you with alcohol. If you have a hangover tomorrow morning you don't get to blame me."

Cas nods, just a bit too intently.

"…don't you have work tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, it's almost two. How do you expect to get yourself up at ass-o'clock if you're up this late?"

"I suppose I'll skip running." He gives Dean an accusatory look, "You have to be up at-at ass-o'clock too."

"I don't _sleep_." Dean goes for his coat—he can take off early, Ellen won't mind and he'll make it up to Sarah later, "I sleep during the day, s'easier."

"Oh." Cas' voice loses whatever power it had.

"Yeah, 'oh'." Dean signales to Sarah, gets a mouthed 'you owe me', and nods emphatically before going around the bar to Cas.

"Come on Cas." Dean pulls him up, not surprised when Cas' legs don't want to support his weight. People are always sober until they try to stand. But after a quick catch (and wow, he's light) Cas gets his feet under himself and lets Dean lead him out, hand still on his shoulder in case Cas decides to play the puppet again. The parking lot is cooler, quieter and darker—a stark contrast to the inside of the bar.

"Where's your car?"

Cas shakes his head, "broke."

"You were going to walk?"

Cas nods, eyelids drooping.

"Where do you even live?"

"64 Charlston Street"—there's the slur

Dean looks at the other man incredulously; Cas is too tired to really mount a defense, if he even would have tried.

"That's across town."

"S'not that far."

Dean snorts, "there are easier ways to meet the nurses, Cas. I'll drive you."

"You don't have to."

Dean says nothing more, just leads/drags Cas to his car and plops him in the passenger seat, driving off to 64 Charleston Street.

Cas is all but asleep when Dean pulls up to his house. Dean fishes Cas' house keys out from the big trench coat Cas always wears and lets Cas into his own house. Cas staggers over to what Dean assumes is his bedroom and falls onto bed. Dean hunts through the kitchen for a glass and puts some pain killers and water on Cas' bedside, in case the morning doesn't agree with him.

Dean is just about to make his exit when Cas shoots up and all but yells:

"I didn't pay for my drinks!" he looks at Dean in horror, with clearer eyes than he's had all night.

Dean can't help bursting out in laughter; Cas' look of worry mounts.

"On the house," Dean wipes the tears from the corners of his eyes.

"I'm really very sorry," Cas, having shocked himself into wakefulness, is more verbose.

"No problem. Really," Dean's smile still lingers.

Cas stands up and throws his overcoat on an empty chair. He looks strangely small without it.

"I'll make it up to you."

Cas' eyes are _very_ blue.

Dean gulps.

"How do you like pie?"

* * *

I'm going away for a week. I might (hopefully!) get another part up before I go, but if not, I'll see y'all later!


	6. Pie

"Oh my god" Dean knows he's making noises not fit for company (not fit for out of the bedroom) but this _pie_.

Cas sips his tea, "I'm glad you like it."

"Like it? That's an insult."

Cas smiles lightly and Dean's sure—this is the best pie ever.

Cas' called into work sick ("I'll never be able to get anything done if I go in"), was asked by three different nurses if he wanted a personal check-up ("No, really, I'm fine, it's just a twenty-four hour bug, I'll be in tomorrow"), and then proceeded to craft a masterpiece from scratch.

"I've had the ingredients forever, but never the time," Cas comments lightly, "I guess 'ass-o'clock' is a good a time as any."

Dean refuses to feel sheepish, having his own phrase thrust back at him—they are both adults, swearing is okay—even though Castiel seems above all that.

"Where did you learn to cook?" Dean asks, looking at his forkful reverently.

"My mother mostly," Cas smiles softly, "I was the youngest in a big family—Mom's little helper and all that. After she died, I just kind of took the cooking over." He shrugs awkwardly, a half-shouldered kind of thing.

"Why the hell didn't you go Johnson and Whales or open a bakery or something?"

Cas blushes from the praise, "being a hospital administrator may not be the most exciting thing, but I'm god at it, and it's what Father wanted. Most of the family works at the hospital."

"Hm," Dean tries his best to not show what he's thinking about that statement, because he has some choice words for a father who would shun a God-given talent—something that Dean is more than sure Cas really enjoyed from watching him bake—to force him into a job that clearly isn't what he loves.

"Enough about me," Cas gives another small smile, "tell me about yourself."

And so Dean does. He tells Cas about working two jobs to help put his baby brother through college and how insanely proud he is of him. He tells Cas about his father's rather recent death and the move, about his half conceptualized dreams of owning his own coffee shop like the one he works at (which wouldn't have a morning shift quite so early, unless, of course, Cas needs it), about his baby, the Impala.

By the end, Dean feels as though Cas must have been bored out of his mind, Dean can't remember talking that much in a long time, let alone about himself. Although he looks a bit tired around the edges, Cas still seems very much interested.

"Speaking of the coffee shop," Cas' mouth is blocked by the rim of his mug, but Dean can make out a taunting smirk, "isn't it time to go there?"

Dean's head whips around to the clock—5:25.

"Shit!" Dean jumps up, grabbing his jacket and racing to the door, "Thanks for the pie!"

"Dean?" Cas calls after him.

"Yeah?" Dean paused, door half open.

"We should do this again sometime," Cas says softly.

Dean grins, "Yeah."


	7. Lunch

Castiel doesn't show up to the coffee shop for four days after that, six if one includes the weekend. Dean spends three of those days in a weird mood, going over his last encounter with Cas again and again in his mind. Fretting and sulking—Sam is be happy to attest.

When Cas finally does show up again, mid-morning, Sam is there (that makes it worse). Dean must let something show, because Sam whistles, one long descending scale.

"You've got it _bad_."

Dean goves him the universal older brother look for shut up because maybe he does, maybe he doesn't, he hasn't really thought on it, so Sam isn't allowed to make comments. Sam just raises his eyebrow but makes no further comment as Cas approaches.

"Hey Cas."

"Hello Dean."

"So…" Dean coughs, "where've you been?" Dean immediately winces; Sam's short of laughter quickly becomes an overblown cough.

"Work has been… worse than usual," Cas says tiredly. And he looks worse than usual—bags under his eyes, skin that never has much color to begin with missing more.

"Quit."

"Hm?" Cas rubs his eyes; he hadn't heard.

"This is my brother Sam—Sam, Cas."

Cas smiles politely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sam, I've heard a lot about you."

Sam casts a sidelong glance at his brother which Dean assumes is supposed to be threatening.

"And I've heard a lot about you—but not nearly enough, I'm sure. Why don't we go sit and chat?" Sam startes leading Cas away.

"But I—"

"Don't worry, Dean'll bring you your coffee."

Cas glances back once more but allows Sam to drag him away. For the next two hours, Dean watches his brother talk to Cas where he can see, but not hear. It is all but hell. Cas finally excuses himself (at 12:14, two hours and 18 minutes after coming into the shop, not that Dean notices), and brings his empty cup over to the counter.

"Your brother is very kind," they both look over to the giant who smiles and waves.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"No, really, he's nice."

Dean makes an unintelligible sound of dissent.

"Your two love each other very much," Cas smiles.

Dean glances over at Sam again, who, by the goofy expression on his face, is talking to Jess on the phone he's taken out, "Unfortunately, yes."

Cas gives his small smile again and turnes to go.

"Um, hey, do ya wanna go out for lunch? Jo's gonna be here in a minute, and it's noon—" oh god, his mouth is still moving, why is it still moving? "if you don't have anything going on that is, I mean, if you do have stuff I understand—"

"That would be nice." Cas cuts him off.

"Yeah? I mean, yeah, so um—" the bell over the door jingles and Dean has never been happier to see Jo than right then, "There's Jo now, if you wouldn't mind waiting a minute?"

Cas nods and takes a seat at the counter. When Dean turns away to shuck off his apron, he takes a quick moment to wonder what the hell he is doing before turning back to Cas and leading him out the door.


	8. Salad

They go down to a little café walking distance from the coffee shop that Dean's been to a few times that Dean always used to say had the best pie (he can't in good conscious say _that_ anymore). They seat themselves and order, a chicken salad and orange juice for Cas, a Ruben and coke for Dean. Cas slumps in his chair as though he wants to become a part of it, and looks around at the quaint place full of light colors like it's an enigma.

"I've passed by this place so many time," he says, still looking around, "but never once thought of coming inside."

"Yeah?" Dean says, because he doesn't know what to say to a statement like that, luckily, Cas feels like elaborating.

"It just never crossed my mind," Cas shrugs awkwardly, "I'd see people enjoying themselves here and think 'that looks nice' and continue on my way to work. The only reason I stopped at your shop at all was because a colleague asked me to get them coffee there. Then I just kept coming back.

"I guess I don't have much initiative. I wonder what would have become of me if I hadn't been trained for the job I have—what would I do without my family giving me the opportunity they have?" Cas's wandering eyes suddenly catch Dean's and he straightens with a jolt, "I'm sorry, that was remiss of me. I guess I'm more tired than I thought."

Dean gives a crooked smile that doesn't reach his eyes as he processes what he's heard, "If I knew you wanted to sleep, I would have made you some greek coffee."

"But then we would not be out to lunch."

Anything Dean would have said to that is interrupted by the waitress bringing them their drinks and assuring them their lunches will be out shortly. Cas takes a long sip of his orange juice, sighing when he finishes.

Dean twirls his straw in his coke, "I don't think you lack initiative or skills—you made that awesome pie and that was all you, it had nothing to do with family connections."

Cas' lip twitches up, "thanks, Dean."

"I mean it, you could open a shop if you wanted—a bakery—it would do well."

Cas give a bark of laughter, and Dean would marvel at the sound if only Cas wasn't laughing at his own considerable skills. Cas' laugh is gone as quick as it came, but his smile stays, small and light as always. Dean is not about to let it go, but the waitress again cuts in, putting the sandwich and salad down in front of their respective recipients. Cas goes right to town, eating his salad like a man starved, and yeah, Dean knows the food is good, but it isn't _that _good.

"Settle down there, Cas," Dean motions to Cas' fork hand when Cas meets his eyes, "it'd be awkward having to bring you back to the hospital because you choked on your rabbit food."

Cas tilts his head just so before seeming to come to a mental decision on what Dean can only guess was his comment of 'rabbit food', he gives a sheepish little smile and goes back to eating at a noticeably slower rate.

"Good," Dean smiles and takes a bite of his own meal, feeling like he's accomplished something much greater than just getting Cas to eat at a more human pace. The two fall into a companionable silence that Dean would find more comfortable if Cas still didn't look like he was a moment away from being committed to the hospital as a patient, not a staff member.

"You get any vacation time, Cas?"

Cas looks startled at the question before nodding, "the standard amount."

Dean fights back a smile, Cas's eyes look extra blue when they're wide with incomprehension, "you take any of that yet?"

"Well, no. There's no need."

Dean gives an incredulous laugh, "Cas, you look like you're running on empty, don't keep pushing yourself, take a few days."

"I took that day none too long ago," Cas reminds him, "after the bar incident."

'Bar incident' Dean mouths because that's just funny, "okay, yeah, but you obviously need more," Dean gestures to Cas's entire self and Cas looks down at himself in what can only be described as self-conscious, "or get an assistant or something. Or hey, you can change careers; I'm not shitting you about the bakery thing, Cas."

Cas moves his lettuce around listlessly, his earlier hunger forgotten, "it's not that simple, I'd be going against my family, and if nothing else it'd be detrimental to the hospital."

"The hospital doesn't seem to be doing you any favors." Dean says a bit more snidely than he meant.

Cas shoots him an annoyed look, "it's a _hospital_, Dean, there are a lot more important things to worry about on any given day than the general happiness of the administrative staff."

"Okay, okay, sorry," Dean sighs, he knows he went to far, but he just has to get in the last word, "I just don't like seeing you like this, is all"

Cas softens, "thank you for your concern, but really, I'll be fine." He gives a small smile that only serves to make Dean more worried than less. Cas can obviously take a lot, he's _been _taking a lot for a while, but it's small things like that that make Dean want to whisk Cas away and protect those soft smiles, make them more frequent, hear Cas laugh loud and long for no other reason than he's happy.

Wow, Dean's totally a chick.

Dean grunts (manfully) and takes a large bite of his sandwich, gets the testosterone pumping.

"What about your ideas of opening a coffee shop, Dean," Cas brings up, "have you made any headway in that?"

Dean coughs, almost choking, Cas gives him a concerned look, but Dean holds up a hand to stop him, Dean'll be fine (he knew he took too big of a bite).

Dean clears his throat, "I don't think now's really a good time…" and it's code for 'that was a moment of weakness confession, I can't do something like that' but Cas doesn't seem to understand that code.

"There'll never be a 'good time', as I understand it, Dean. You have all the talent, skill, and experience. If you need capitol I'm sure I could help, or we could look at bank loans if that makes you uncomfortable." Cas shrugs, "I think it'd be a hit."

Dean feels color rising to his cheeks, the praise is so sincere it's almost daunting, "thanks Cas, but I don't wanna do any risky things while Sam's still in college. Besides, there are pleantly of coffee shops out there. Who's to say mine would compete?" Cas opens his mouth, obviously fit to respond, but Dean continues, "I don't just want a coffee shop, I want something special, something to make it different, not just another place you can't tell from st*rbucks"

Cas leans closer to the table, salad forgotten, a thoughtful look on his face, "I don't know what that special something could be," he says slowly, carefully, "but if anyone can figure it out, I'm sure you can."

Dean quirks a smile, awkwardly, before shifting in his seat, "you ready to go?"

Cas nods.

"Car still broken?"

Cas gives a rueful smile, "It would seem that there's actually no point in fixing it; more money in than it's worth. I've thought about going car shopping but…"

"Haven't found the time?"

Cas makes a sound of agreement, "luckily the bus gets me close enough to where I need to go."

"No need for that today, I'll give you a lift," Dean pulls his chair out, throwing down a twenty. That's another awesome thing about this café, it's cheap.

"You really don't have to," Cas eyes the bill, "and really I can pay."

"I asked you, Cas, and it's fine, I'm always looking for an excuse to drive my baby."

That seems to be enough to convince Cas, so they make their way to the Impala parked behind Dean's place of employment. Dean doesn't bother thinking about how good Cas looks in his car, but not thinking about it doesn't change the fact. The ride is fairly uneventful, traffic isn't bad; the silence is comfortable. Dean pulls up to the curb across from Cas's place and puts the car in park.

"And here we are."

"Here we are," Cas repeats with a faint twitch of the lips.

"Get some sleep, 'kay Cas?" Dean's brow furrows, "I know things at the hospital are important and all that, but seriously, think of yourself—" Dean cuts off, Cas's smile has a teasing edge—"and I sound like a mom. Okay, I get it, get out of my car." Dean turns away, heat rising to his cheeks as he runs a hand through his hair.

The door opens, loud as it does, but Cas doesn't immediately exit.

"Hey Dean?"

Dean turns, ready for the witty snip or fond teasing. Neither comes. Cas leans in and then there's warm, soft lips against Dean's in a short, chaste kiss.

Cas pulls off a scant inch, "thanks." Dean feels the word as hot air against his already tingling lips.

Cas is out of the car and up his steps before Dean's processed what just happened.

"Wait I'm not—" the door closes, Cas behind it, and Dean glances down to see a crisp ten dollar bill on the passenger seat, "…gay."


	9. Bitter

Dean probably could have handled it better, he admits, but really, Cas went at him out of _nowhere_. His reaction, while not the most mature of things, _workes_—not that Dean is actually sure what he's trying to accomplish.

The evening of the 'incident' Dean calls Jo up and almost begs her to switch shifts with him for a week. It takes some coercing, but it works. He hasn't seen Cas once in the ensuing three days.

"You know he asked for you, right?" Jo says when they change shifts, "asks if you're okay."

Dean doesn't like the shame that's filling him out, taking the space Cas's company had once consumed. It's not as if he should feel guilty, even if that's entirely what he knows Jo's going for. And hey, it's not like Dean doesn't miss Cas, even if he is a little weirdo who works too hard. It's just that Cas went and freakin' _kissed_ him.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says gruffly, pulling his smock overhead. Sam's going to come by soon, and even though Sam doesn't know exactly why his brother switched shifts, he doesn't seem too thrilled about it.

"He looks like a kicked puppy, Dean," Jo continues, "and he doesn't even like our coffee, so God _only_ knows why he keeps coming back."

That's because he says 'black' but he likes the beans a bit burnt and a shot of vanilla, Dean bites his tongue to keep the words in.

"I mean, if you're gonna break up with the guy, at least _tell_ him." Jo shoots him a glare, "you're just being mean."

"We were never—" Dean starts

"So _that's_ what this is about!" Dean groans, he hadn't even seen his brother enter.

"Sam—"

"No, seriously Dean, Cas is a good guy, I don't know why you'd wanna let that go, but you do not get to be an ass, and you certainly don't get to mope around the house."

"I haven't been moping." Dean mumbles before continuing with more vigor, "and it's not my fault, so stop it, he's the one who freakn' _kissed_ me!"

Jo and Sam stare at him blankly.

"Whatever," Jo turns away, "Sam, you deal with your imbecile of a brother. I'm going to sleep. Oh, and tomorrow? You're working your own shift, Dean. I'm taking mine back."

"What—but—Jo!" Dean calls, indignant, but Jo's already swished out the door with nary a look back.

"Dean…"

Oh god, Dean knows the tone. He wants nothing to do with that tone. Nothing. But he's currently stuck behind a desk for the next few hours so it looks like he's not getting out of this one.

"Dean, what is this really about?" Sam sound so _understanding_. It's sick.

"You mean besides the part where Cas _kissed _me?" Dean snorts back and God, what he wouldn't do for a surge of customers right now.

"Yeah, Dean, besides that," Sam looks annoyed, "because I'm not seeing the problem there."

Dean gapes, "I'm not _gay_, Sammy."

Sam waves a hand vaguely, "sure, but you obviously have something going on with Cas."

Before Dean can sputter a response Sam continues, "People who are having a big gay freak-out don't wallow around the house, Dean. They don't act like they've lost their favorite thing to smile about."

"Please Samantha, this is getting ridiculous." Dean crosses his arms.

"No Dean," Sam says, and there's actual anger in his voice, "since you met Cas you've been happier, smiled more, and don't even tell me you haven't been looking at those plans for your own shop Dean, I saw you.

"I don't want my big brother to throw away what's making him happy because of some idea of what he's supposed to like when it's obvious that's not what he wants. And if you really want to, you're not allowed to drag Cas down with you. He's a good man."

"I _know_ that, Sam." Dean snarls out, his hackles raised as he desperately wants this conversation to be over so he can go back to his brilliant plan of ignore-ignore-ignore.

Sam raises one eyebrow, almost condescending.

"God, Sam, it's not like I'm going out of my way to hurt the guy, I just don't wanna be jumped."

"If you really felt that, why didn't you just talk to him? Why are you hiding out and running away?"

"I can't, okay?" Dean runs a hand through his hair, "It's just—I can't."

"Not good enough, Dean," Sam says, but his eyes soften and he sighs, "look, you need to talk to Cas, okay? No matter what you decide, you need to let him know. This doesn't just affect you." Sam has the decency to ignore Dean's flinch, "And Dean, I want you to be happy—no matter what. So, just…pick what makes you happy."

The coffee shop suddenly feels too small and Dean's mind is crowded with thoughts that all vie for his attention. He needs to think, to talk it out. The first person that comes to mind to talk with is Cas, and that just answers that, doesn't it?


	10. Warm

Dean's still nervous, still unsure, but there are three things he's come to a conclusion on. One: he'd rather have Cas in his life, Two: a guy being with a guy isn't a bad thing, really, no matter what was insinuated when Dean was young, and Three: Dean's seriously going to have to grovel.

His shift (his morning shift, Jo wasn't kidding when she said he was going to have to talk it back), starts with Dean keyed up and antsy. When the door finally opens, just as early as ever, Dean's eyes latch onto it. When Cas starts to walk in (head bent, the lines of his body tired, eyes red from too little sleep) Dean feels something in him release in a rush as the rest of him tightens in concern.

"Cas…"

Cas' head shoots up, blue eyes wide as they lock onto Dean's. Instead of walking forward, of finishing through the doorway, Cas takes an aborted step back, head shaking just a tad.

"I-I sorry, I'll… sorry," and then he's turning away, leaving to the street and Dean feels his chest contract harder at Cas' pain as anger at himself rises. He knew what Jo and Sam were saying, but somehow, not seeing it made it easier—watching Cas almost literally shrink into himself, as if _he_ were the one who did a terrible-bad-thing, hurts. Dean's anger at himself expands in that moment, but more than that, a fear rises that tells Dean if he doesn't stop Cas now, he'll never see him again.

Dean jumps the counter and is throwing open the door before he's thought through what to do. Cas is walking quickly away, oblivious to Dean following him out, but he is still just walking. Dean overtakes him in mere moments, arms sliding around Cas' waist, pulling him back against Dean's chest. Now here, with Cas in his arms in the middle of the sidewalk, Dean can't come up with a reason why this is wrong. He's still nervous, with his arms around another man in public, but the internalized feeling of _wrongness_ is brushed aside by the very real relief of having this back.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." Dean whispers into Cas' neck, arms pulling tighter, even as Cas tenses (has been tense since Dean first touched him).

"Dean," Cas' hands come to Dean's arms, "Dean, let go."

Dean doesn't want to, but he does, grip easing up until it goes slack. Dean pulls back, his eyes imploring as Cas finally turns, trying to catch those blue eyes, wanting Cas to see his sincerity.

Cas does not meet them, "It's fine. It was my fault. I'm sorry." Dean's shoulder's tense, Cas clears his throat, looking anywhere but Dean, "you should get back to the shop."

Dean shakes his head. No, this is not supposed to be how it goes, he has to be able to fix this, "_Cas_" Dean moves his head so he can catch Cas' gaze, and drags it back around, "Cas, I screwed up. It's my fault. I… I was more concerned with how I was supposed to act than what actually made me happy and I shut you out and hurt you and that's not cool. But, Cas, please, please tell me I haven't messed up too bad, that I can fix this."

Cas' eyes stay steady on Dean before he breaks the gaze, one hand fiddling with his coat cuff. Dean holds his breath and waits.

"I…I don't know," Cas looks back up at Dean through his lashes and Dean's throat tightens, "I… that's the first time I'd ever… _done_ something like that." Cas eyes skirt away again, embarrassed, "and…" Cas' hand still works at his cuff with a single-mindedness Dean doubts Cas notices, but he does notice the people, more now, walking around them, one not so subtle older woman attempting to listen in.

"Come 'ere" Dean grabs Cas' hand, pulls him back to the shop with no resistance and shuts the door behind them, flipping the open sign around so it faces them, 'closed' being shown to the world. Cas looks out of place now, more nervous, as if he's wondering if he should just make for the door again.

Dean's had Cas' coffee made since he entered this morning (too jittery to just wait), and has been keeping it warm in a travel cup he'd brought from home. He gets it now, bringing it to Cas and putting it in his hands with a soft 'here'.

Cas takes a seat near the counter, and Dean knows it probably means nothing, but he feels calmer either way.

"I'm sorry that I…" Cas makes a vague motion between their faces, cup held close in the other as Dean sits across from him.

"No, Cas, seriously I was a dick about it. If I didn't like it I could've just said something, not run off and hid behind Jo."

Cas' pale cheeks tinge pink, "you liked it?" he whispers, trying to hide as much of his face behind the travel cup as possible when he takes a sip.

Dean feels his own cheeks color as he nods, what has to be a goofy smile on his face.

"Oh" Cas all but preens, and Dean will berate himself more, later, about how dumb he'd been, almost letting this go, but for now he can smile fondly.

He can't let it end here though; he has to make it clear, "Cas, I'm really sorry—really. I didn't even know why I was avoiding you, just that I thought I had to. And I know it sounds like crap, but I'm kinda slow on the uptake sometimes and it takes my brother yelling at me for me to see just how shitty I went and made my life."

Cas nods slowly, as if he's still taking in what's being said, "I…accept your apology," he says, formal as ever, "but promise not to do that in the future. If I've messed up, just _tell_ me."

Dean wants to interject that it wasn't _Cas _who'd messed up, but _Dean_ but the point still stands—communicate. And wow, that sounds so relationship-y that Dean thinks he just went and skeeved himself out, but he's a grown ass man, so it's time he stop trying to act like a teenager.

They sit for a moment in comfortable silence, Cas sipping on his coffee contentedly, seeming to relax for the first time in what Dean can only guess has been a few tough days at the office at least, and Dean tries to not stare at him. He's thinking of giving Cas his sandwich or something to add a few pounds, because although Cas looks formless under his bulky clothes, with how skinny his wrists are and how thin he felt when Dean had dragged him against him, Cas could use it.

"Cas?" Dean breaks the silence as a question occurs.

"mh?"

"What d'ya mean, 'first time' doing that sort of thing?" Dean watches as Cas goes pink to his ears, "like, making a move…?"

Cas puts the mug on the table fully, but doesn't remove his hands from it, "I've never," Cas clears his throat, "never…" he clears it again, bringing one hand around to rub at the back of his neck.

Dean's eyes go wide. It can't be what he's thinking.

"You've never kissed someone before?"

By the way Cas goes three shades darker, Dean guesses he's right. And wow if that doesn't make inappropriate thoughts flow into Dean's mind even as he knows now is certainly not the time—he should still be groveling really.

"But, why?" Dean can't help blurting out. Cas is not bad looking. He's the opposite. The exact opposite. He is very good looking _and_ he's a really good person—a hard (too hard) worker and a good listener and really an all-around awesome guy and Dean can't imagine how he's never dated someone before, let alone never been kissed.

Cas gives his version of a shrug, an aborted half motion with one shoulder, "I'm blunt. Abrasive. Unapproachable. I don't take initiative. I'm shy and uninteresting." Not all the words sound like Cas' but he says them all as if he believes them and Dean wants nothing more than to show Cas how wrong he is. Or beat up whoever told him this bullshit.

"Hey now, not true," Dean reaches across the table, hand hovering over Cas' and when Cas makes no move to pull it away, Dean lets it rest on top of his, "you're really interesting, you're _honest _which is lacking in the world nowadays. You're quiet, sure, but you talk to strangers just fine; you did when we met. And you're really nice, Cas, you _care_. It's their loss, Cas. Can't say I'm too sad about it." And Dean's sappy. It's official. Carve it in stone and leave it in the middle of the city. Dean's mustering up the patriarchal masculinity to care when Cas gives a small smile that makes Dean unable to.

Dean clears his throat, "so, um, kissing."

Cas meets Dean's eyes, "I won't do it again, certainly not without asking," he's quick to supply. And that's not where Dean's going with that but it makes it apparent that Dean's going to have to work at making Cas' moment of initiative okay in Cas' own eyes, but for now, he'll let it go.

"Yeah, sure," Dean waits a beat, "Hey Cas?

"Yeah?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Cas' smile is this mix of tentative and mischievous. Dean loves it. "Well, I don't know…"

Dean leans forward with a smile of his own, resting his weight on his elbows on the table, "Please?"

Cas makes a show of thinking, and Dean's stuck again by the thought that he almost lost this, all because of some stupid idea he'd never questioned before, just accepted thoughtlessly.

"I guess," Cas sighs out, as if undertaking some less-than-pleasant task.

"Don't put yourself out," Dean says, but the last words are against Cas' lips because he's already leaned forward the extra few inches. It's reminiscent of their first kiss, soft and light. Dean can feel Cas' breathe against his mouth, feel his eyelids flutter shut in the sweetest of ways. And then Dean's pressing harder, letting his tongue slip between his lips to wet Cas' dry ones, licking at the seam, feeling Cas' swift inhale as he lets them part.

Dean pulls back, just enough to see Cas' shiny wet lips, slightly parted and oh so inviting, dark lashes fanning out across his skin. Dean lets his breath ghost over Cas' mouth, watching him full-body shiver and he _almost let this go_.

Dean leans in again, slotting their lips so Cas' bottom lip falls between his own. He draws the plump lip into his mouth, worrying it with his teeth, giving it one sharp nip that makes Cas whimper deliciously before pulling back. Cas looks even better now, lower lip quickly filling in with color, dark red, offset by flushed cheeks and half-lidded, almost drunk, eyes lined with a bright rim of blue. Best of all, those blown eyes are looking at Dean's mouth as if the only thing Cas wants is to kiss him again.

Cas opens that sweet mouth, "I have to go to work," his words are a bucket of cold water, the pleasant warm feeling flushed out with ice.

"No, no, no, stay," Dean knows it's pathetic, but there's nothing he wants more. And finally being allowed to want what he wants—finally being allowed to _have_ what he wants—is so new and wonderful and he doesn't want to let life come between that.

"I have work, _you_ have work," Cas gestures to the counter, but he's still too soft around the edges for it to be a reprimand, "we can…meet later?" Cas hedges, voice too questioning for the moment they've just shared, but Dean gets it, Cas is still wary, he was hurt too bad to go straight back to the comfortable level they were at before. Dean'll fix that, he swears it.

"Yeah, okay, seven?" Dean asks, "I'll come to your house?"

Cas smiles, "I'll cook dinner."

Dean doesn't wanna say it, he really doesn't, but something must come across his face because Cas laughs, a short bark, and says, "And pie."

Dean's not responsible for the dorky smile on his face.


	11. Time

6:30 finds Dean dressing dressy-casual (after consulting the internet on what that was). Sam and Jess are studying in Jess' dorm—and that's probably all they're doing, to Dean's chagrin.

6:40 finds Dean in the Impala heading to Charleston about fifteen minutes away.

6:42 finds Dean taking the turn on to Clément street after a four-way stop.

6:42:53 finds Dean being slammed into by a semi-truck.

6:43:07 finds Dean's side of the car smashed in and in a ditch.

6:45:23 finds Dean being administered rudimentary first aid by onlookers who force the driver's side door open.

6:51:18 finds Dean being hauled into an ambulance and rushed to St. Claire's as the citizen doctors are thanked.

6:53:02 finds Dean in cardiac arrest.

6:53:40 finds Dean's heart beating again.

6:57:32 finds Dean in surgery.

6:59:08 finds Dean fighting for his life.

7:00:00 finds Cas alone.

* * *

Y'all hate me now, don't ya?

edit: thanks SKLBug210 for pointing out my blunders-they've been fixed!


	12. Tea

When Dean doesn't shown up and dinner is getting cold, Cas thinks of a myriad of reasons why Dean couldn't have made it. He makes a cup of tea for himself (never coffee, he's shit-all at making it) when it's clear that Dean's not going to show up late. He takes a seat in the overstuffed chair that's just for nights like this, and attempts to read his book.

_This is why_, a traitorous part of his mind starts up, sounding suspiciously like his eldest cousin, _you don't do these things_.

Cas makes a point to shift, settles himself differently as if to displace his doubts.

_He was done with you days ago, and you kept going to that shop like a mangy animal begging for attention._ The voice sneers, _he felt bad. You're pathetic and he couldn't keep up the charade any longer._

Cas says nothing. He gets up too fast and ignores how his vision spots. He goes into the kitchen and yanks the oven open, taking the half baked pie that was filling the small place with its aroma and shoves it in the freezer.

_You never do it right,_ the insecurities build up, _make people like you. That's why you work for your family, the only ones who will put up with your oddities._ And now it's not a voice in his head but a memory of his cousin Zachariah chastising him as Michael, Cas' eldest brother, looks on without saying a word. Cas felt so ashamed in that moment. He'd let them down. And now the shame was with him again, rust on the back of his tongue.

_Besides_, the voice goes on, heedless,_ what would Father say?_

Cas' shoulders tense without conscious thought, hands gripping the counter top so hard they're white. Cas is the youngest of his siblings, the last before his mother's death, and the one who looked the most like her. Cas knew it must have hurt his father dearly (or Father didn't care at all, which makes Cas' chest ache more than anything), but when he was a kid he just didn't get why Father was never around. Not for weekends or holidays or birthdays. He didn't understand and so he'd gone to his elder cousin for council. Zachariah had been quick to inform him of his failings and steer him on the right path, but still Father never seemed to notice.

Maybe he is still holding out for that; a father who loves him and sees him as worthy.

Cas shakes his head. No, he is not the boy he once was. His father was never around to voice his approval or disapproval. Just because Cas has found something he'd felt comfortable calling _his_ does not mean he will suddenly show up, play out all those nightmares Cas has whenever he thinks of going off script, of disobeying Zachariah.

Cas doesn't need an imagined father's approval. He _knows_ it's okay because it feels right.

If Dean doesn't feel that way, that's okay. Cas isn't going to be passive any more, he's going to do what he wants because finally— finally it's clicked. The only one who he can insure the happiness and approval of is himself.

The next day, when Cas passes the coffee shop, Dean's not at the counter. Cas hadn't really thought of what he'd do if Dean _was _there, but that he isn't stings. He's being avoided again, and this time he'll take the hint. It hurts, a twinge in his chest, but Cas is going to be okay. He's going to make sure of it.

* * *

so, I didn't leave ya hangin' too long now did I? don't say I never did anything for ya.


	13. Bandage

"You're lucky he's alive."

Sam nods fervently at the doctor's words, eyes shining.

"The worst was the gash on his stomach; he was impaled by the metal frame when it crushed in—the main brunt missed his vital organs but the shrapnel made it touch and go for a while. He was close to bleeding out by the time he got here."

Sam nods again, not able to muster words. Jess squeezes his hand.

"He has a mild concussion and the whip lash hurt the tendons in his neck. There is bruising and abrasions mostly on the left side of his body, be he only broke his left forearm. We'd like to keep him under observation for a few more days, and I'll have a nurse teach you how to dress and clean the stomach wound, but after that he should be able to go home." The doctor pauses, looking Sam over, "he'll be fine." She finishes with a pat on the shoulder.

Sam wishes he hadn't needed those words said as much as he did. He sinks down into the visitor chair, looking at his big brother covered in white and dotted with red.

"Thank you Doctor Harris." Jess addresses her. Dr. Harris nods and leaves them, after one last look at Dean's vitals.

"Oh god, Jess, I-I almost _lost_ him." Sam hunches his big frame over and cries.

* * *

Dean's groggy re-entrance into the land of the living is far from pleasant.

"Dean," Sam says, relieved, so in tune with brother that he awoke from sleep just as Dean had.

"Sammy?" Dean attempts to rub his temple, but his arm is stiff, encased in plaster.

"Yeah Dean, you're okay."

"Holy shit," Dean's mouth lolls out, a sure sign that he's on something and the pain he's feeling no is not as bad as it could be, "I feel like I've been hit by a fucking semi—what the hell happened?"

"Well," Sam coughs, "that."

Dean looks at Sam, disbelievingly, his brother just nods.

"Shit."

A moment passes between them, silent but for their breathing.

"The Impala!"

"…it's something to do?"

Dean glares.

* * *

's not sad, right? Dean's alive. that's half the battle :)


	14. Letter

When Cas goes into work, resignation letter in hand, he paces outside the office. Last night had been inspiring outside of the hurt. Cas had decided what he wants to do, and he knows administration, surrounded by family quick to tell him he isn't measuring up. But here, now, outside the office, the letter clutched in his hands, that life-changing thought seems so much more well, _life-changing_. Frightening really. He's spent so long following family orders, allowing himself to be directed on a path that he's had no say in, that to start again, with no direction, is looking increasingly impossible.

No, Cas can do this. He _has_ to do this. For himself. With that thought firmly in mind, Cas strides into the offices, going straight to Zachariah's desk.

"You're late." Zachariah says, not looking up from the paper he's signing off on.

"I'm resigning." Cas gets out, voice stronger than he thought it would be.

At that Zachariah looks up, looks into Cas' eyes. Cas tries to stay strong, resolved, under the on slot of terror that comes from seemingly nowhere (but is rooted in childhood events that Cas could scarcely recall). Zachariah holds his gaze for a moment longer before giving a snort, dismissive, mocking, and turns back to his work, "go do your job, Castiel."

Cas feels his legs want to move; _he_ wants to move, get out from under this self-endued conflict, but he can't. He can't give up on himself that easily. Every time in the past he had, and look where that's gotten him. So Cas thrusts the letter forward, resignation written neatly atop it, though the envelop itself is crinkled at the corners from his fidgeting.

Zachariah looks up again, this time more annoyed than anything, "Castiel, I don't have time for this. I have work to do, as do you. It is important and it helps people." Cas twitches, hoping Zachariah won't notice, he thinks that's the reason he's stayed with it so long, regardless of his distaste for it. It's like he said to Dean, his job helps people; he cannot just forsake them for the gains of himself. It's just not right. It goes against everything he's been taught—the individual means nothing in the face of the whole—but he can't help thinking that he has _worth_ (a traitorous thought that has him flushing in shame).

And maybe he is wrong, maybe Zachariah's been right this entire time. But Cas needs to find that out for himself. He can't keep relying on the opinions of others. If he had, it would have kept him from his brief (very brief) time with Dean, and though it ended poorly, hurtfully, Cas thinks he's better for it. What else has he been missing by wordlessly following the convictions of others?

"I would like to resign." this time his voice is shakier, his throat feels blocked and his hands are sweaty, but his conviction is still there.

"Castiel, look," Zachariah sighs, as if addressing and unruly child rather than a fully grown man, "I've been remiss, you've been stressed. You have some vacation saved up, take a few days and you'll get over whatever crazy phase this is. And when that happens you'll thank me for not letting you ruin your future."

Cas shakes his head, "I would like to resign. I'm not going to change my mind."

Zachariah gives Castiel a look that clearly states what he thinks of _that_, "you have two weeks."

The dismissal is obvious, and even though Castiel wants to continue his case, he finds his legs carrying him out of Zachariah's office. Cas takes a seat in one of the extraneous chairs before his legs stop holding him. He's not sure if he's 'won' that round, as it goes. He doesn't think so. Zachariah still views him as incompetent in directing his own life, and he still has this job to fall back on, something that terrifies him. Cas does not want to have this option open, he does not want to give himself the temptation of falling back into his old habits.

One of the interns, a cheery girl named Becky Rosen who doesn't belong in such an environment in Cas' opinion, comes over to him, "Hey Mr. Novak, are you okay?" she places a kind hand on his shoulder.

Cas thinks of what a spectical he must be making of himself and clears his throat, going to stand, "yes Ms. Rosen, thank you, I was just feeling a bit light headed."

"Do you want me to call a nurse?" she asks, concerned, "I'm sure someone would run up in a jiff!"

"That's quite alright, Ms. Rosen," Cas is quick to assure, he doesn't know why, but the nurses have a tendency to be a bit overzealous whenever Cas has the slightest of maladies, "I'm perfectly fine now, I'll just be going to my office."

Becky gives him one more hard look before apparently concluding that he's passed muster and allows him passage. Before he's gotten through his doorway, Becky calls to him, "I'm going to go get coffee from that place you like, do you want me to pick anything up?"

"No, no, no thank you, I'm fine."

Becky gives him one more lingering look for his answer, but turns away with a smile. Cas shuts his office door with more relief than is warranted. He looks around the mostly barren space. His goal is to clear out his personal belongings and leave, but as he looks, there's really nothing of his to take.

There's the office computer, the file cabinet in the corner along with the fake plant that HR said would make the place more welcoming whenever he has client meetings (a rare occurrence indeed). He doesn't have any pictures on his desk, no nick-knacks, just a large calendar, pens, pencils and paperclips in their seperate containers, and a large stack of files in his 'in-box'.

Cas doesn't really know what he was expecting, but this, this nothingness that constitutes his life, hits him harder than he'd thought it would. He really has nothing to his name, nothing but a job he doesn't care for and a family who he's really just starting to realize the extent of which they don't care for him.

Cas goes to the window, looks down at the world below him, people hurrying to their engagements and wonders how many of them truly like what they do. Is he alone in feeling lost and displaced? Is he the only one who's life has been based of things that really mean nothing? Cas sighs, he's getting maudlin. He turns from the window and looks at his desk once more before walking out. There's nothing left here for him.

Cas takes the long way out of the hospital, going through wards and patient areas. He walks through the children's wand and the infant wing. He walks down the trama ward and wishes them well in his head. Nurses run around him, going about their almost endless work. Some stop to say hi, ask why he's here, if he needs anything. Cas is quick to assure them that he is fine.

Dr. Harris comes out of an observation ward looking tired and almost runs into Castiel. Dr. Harris is one of St. Claire's best surgeons, it's the family portion that takes the most out of her, especially if someone doesn't make it.

"Sorry Castiel, I guess I'm a little out of it."

"Perfectly fine."

"It's just, well, there was this car crash last night and the surgery was terrible. Our guy flat-lined twice on the table and once in transit. It's been a hell of a mess. Not including the broken humerus and blood loss, we're still waiting to see if there's a concussion and—and you don't want to be hearing about this." Dr. Harris cuts herself off, self-depreciating. Doctors have a tendency, Cas has noticed, towards forgetting what other deem acceptable conversation topics, and how those usually don't include the innards of another.

"It's okay, I don't mind. I'm just on my way out."

"Oh, taking a vacation?" Dr. Harris smiles, "I don't think that's happened since I started my tenure here."

Cas shakes his head, "I'm resigning."

Dr. Harris' face falls as if ready to start condolences but something in Cas' expression must stop her.

"Well good." she finally settles on, "you've never looked very happy with all that paperwork."

"But someone has to do it," Cas defends unthinkingly. Has it been that obvious to everyone, that he's been unhappy?

"Yeah, sure," Dr. Harris agrees, nodding, "But that doesn't mean it's got to be you. You've paid your dues here Castiel, lived up to the family legacy. Go find something you enjoy, meet someone who makes you happy."

Cas' face must be more expressive than he's thought because Dr. Harris immediately changes her tune.

"Okay, you and me are going to go grab some—" she glances at her watch "—breakfast-lunch thing and you are going to tell Nonni all about it."

"We don't have any relation." Cas blinks, but allows himself to be lead along.

"Doesn't change the fact that I am going to be your spiritual guide," she pulls Cas in line with her, grabbing a salad and watching Cas do the same. They pay for their meals—salad, fruit, water and baked good—and make their way to an empty table.

"I don't know," Cas hesitates, Dr. Harris is a good person, and he's known her since she came to work at St. Claire five years ago, but they've never been close. Cas has never been close to anyone at the hospital.

"Please Castiel? I need something to get my mind off internal organs and car frame shrapnel. I swear I won't tell."

Cas nods, "I thought I was" Cas makes a gesture that could mean anything as his cheeks heat, "you know, with someone." He clears his throat, "but after we—well, _I_ kissed _him_ and—" Cas cuts himself off, he just said 'him'. Dr. Harris knows. He looks at her, eyes wide, but she does nothing, just nods at him to continue his tale. It's instantly settling and Cas is suddenly so very grateful to the doctor.

"And apparently he wasn't ready or something." Cas makes an aborted shrug, Dr. Harris puts her hand on Cas' squeezing it lightly and the floodgates open, "he was avoiding me and I knew it but I just couldn't let it go, I couldn't understand that he was rejecting me. And then I went to his place of work again—he hadn't been working his normal shift and I always go to that shop, so I didn't think he'd be there—but then he was and I exited the coffee place and vowed I wouldn't go again, I'd take a hint.

"But then he followed me out and he told me that he was wrong. That what he'd done was stupid and—and I think someone told him loving another man was wrong and that's why, but I'm not positive, he just kept telling me that he was sorry and I wanted to believe him so badly because I was very happy when we were together and then we..." Cas' cheeks turned red and he looked shyly at Dr. Harris who looked nothing but kind and nonjudgmental, "we kissed. Then I had to go to work and he needed to do his job so we parted ways but we made plans to meet that evening and he, he didn't come."

The confession was a double edged sword, Cas feels lighter sharing his secret, but it also drudges up his feelings from that moment and makes his throat feel tight. It hurts in a different way from renouncing what he thought was his family duty, but it still hurts.

"Oh Honey, I'm so sorry to hear that," Dr. Harris squeezes his hand again and brings the other up to rub Cas' shoulder, much like Becky had done earlier, "He sounds like a guy who's certainly going to be regretting his life choices soon—you certainly are a catch."

Cas gives a little laugh and smile, even if he doesn't really believe the words, they do make him feel a bit better.

"Really Honey," Dr. Harris gives him a look, one Cas associates with him missing something obvious, "We're going to go out on the town, Castiel, and you'll forget this ass because so many other guys will be throwing themselves at you. I'll probably get jealous."

Cas shifts in his seat. That's something he's never done before, would never be entertaining the idea of it weren't for his new view towards his own life, and although he knows he wants to, he don't know that he can handle it right now.

"Can we, um, sometime next week?" Cas hedges, "I want to look for a new job—find out what I want to do—before I try and meet someone."

Dr. Harris smiles indulgently, "Sure Castiel, how about next Friday?"

Cas smiles and nods. Even though his immediate future is intimidating and unsure, he has a plan, even just for one night, and it calms him more than he'd thought.

Dr. Harris' beeper goes off, "Sorry to cut this short Castiel, but I've got a patient to deal with—here, give me your number and we can hash out the details later."

Cas does and Dr. Harris runs off to deal with patient. He pokes at his meal before deciding to just go home. He's spent so much time at the hospital since he's started working here, it'd be nice to eat a slow mean in the comfort of his place. And while he's doing it, he can do some soul searching without having hospital staff looking at him as though their ready to be a bit too helpful.


	15. Applesauce

Dean's been in the hospital for two days now, and he couldn't be more bored. They won't let him have any real food, getting a drink is out of the question, and the pain meds (although he's so very glad to have them, because if this is what it feels like with them, he doesn't want to feel life without them) keep him in this constant state of drifting awareness interspersed with sleep, sleep and more sleep.

His doctor's nice and by nice he means hot. But he thinks he's spent most of his time during her checking oh him going back and forth between complimenting her and telling her that she'll never be as great as Cas. If he hadn't already come to the conclusion that getting it on with Cas is a-okay, he might have been freaking out under the drug educed haze, as it were, he just has to deal with all the ammo Sam is saving up on him with these babbles.

On the third day, Dr. Harris pronounces him fit to leave, as long as he follows her extensive list of instructions; nothing hard on his stomach for at least until his follow up in three weeks where she'll check how he's doing. No coffees, sodas, high sugared drinks, or alcohol, mild teas are okay though, and plenty of water. He needs his wound cleaned at least once a day, preferably twice, and she shows Sam exactly how to do that, once she learns they live together. No pressured water against the stomach wound, keep the cast dry; basically have sponge baths.

He'll be feeling sedate for at least another week while his body replenishes his blood and expends energy healing, so he is _not_ to push himself. The combined glare from Jess and Sam makes him pretty certain he won't be _allowed_ to do anything more than bring a soup spoon to his lips.

Before they pack up to go (and Dean gets to get into real clothes again) Dr. Harris, god bless her, writes him a prescription for vicodin that Jess immediately goes to get filled as Sam helps his big brother dress in sweats and a loose tee that he'd brought from the apartment.

As Dr. Harris is exiting the room, Dean calls a thanks after her and tells her whenever she wants a free coffee or drink to give him a call.

By the time the three are in Jess' car (the poor Impala still nothing more than a bent frame), Dean's starting to feel the pain as the good drugs wear off. When Jess pulls up to their apartment, Dean's sweating, uncomfortable, and in pain.

"Come on Dean," Sam urges, "We just need to get something into you before you take any pills."

"'M just going to throw it up anyway," Dean mumbles out as he's half dragged out of the car and into the building.

"We'll just give you some applesauce or something like that. And some water. It'll be fine." Jess says, opening their door with Sam's key so Sam can maneuver them inside.

Dean grunts, but offers no more protest. Whatever gets him the vicodin faster is what he's willing to go for. Right now he's kind of wishing he'd stayed in the hospital another day or two, wishes he hadn't been so insistent on wanting to go home. But at least he's miserable in his own bed, sweating in his own clothes, and able to get more than just spanish soap operas on tv, when he has the energy to make it into the living area.

Jess brings him his applesauce (he didn't even know they had any), after Sam deposits him in bed, and pulls the covers up around him. Dean knew it since he saw how happy she makes his brother, but damn, is she a keeper. Even more so when she says she's going to the Roadhouse to pick up the soup Ellen made him for as he recovers.

Dean eats about half of the little bowl before he can get his brother to hand over two pills, but it's worth it once he has them. He knows it's placebo effect, he_ just _swallowed them, but it's fucking awesome so leave him to it, thank-you-very-much.

It's when he's drifting, body pulling him under, that Sam decides to 'talk'.

"Hey Dean, I wasn't going to bring it up earlier, but I'm really proud of you."

"Hein?"

"you know, Cas, coming to terms with it and all." Sam coughs, "no one really needed to know _that_ much about what you like about his eyes, but still."

"Yeah, 's great, Sammy, Cas' fucking _awesome_," Dean pauses, "these _pills_ are awesome."

"Okay..." Sam thinks he's being subtle, taking the little bottle and slipping it into his pocket, but he's obvious. Dean snorts to show his awareness, but he doesn't think Sam catches on.

"Anyway," Sam hedges, voice more cautionary, and that sounds wrong, Dean just did something good, right? He frickin' _like_ likes Cas. Sam should he barfing rainbows at this point, "you should really tell Cas all this."

Dean scrunches his face, "I did, Sammy."

Sam looks surprised, "Really?"

"Yeah, before..." Dean makes a vague motion with his one working arm at his entire self, "we're gonna meet at his place, although I guess not anymore."

"Wait." Sam holds up a hand, and Dean thinks it's kinda funny, because he certainly isn't going anywhere, "You talked with him and were going to meet up? Oh god, did anyone call him? Tell him about the crash at all? Tell him that you're okay?"

"'sss fine, Sammy," Dean makes to pat Sam on the shoulder, but his arm's encased in plaster. He'd forgotten about that, "'M sure he's good."

"Dean, I don't think you get it," Sam says, and Dean knows that tone, that tone means things are serious, but Dean can't make himself focus on anything outside of the fact that Sam's hair would look _awesome_ in braids, funny awesome, "you were ignoring him, and then according to you, you talked and made up, and were going to _meet _up. Oh god, is that why you were on that side of town? I should have know, there's nothing over there that we go to—"

Sam shakes his head to refocus, "you were going to meet up and then you didn't show up. He probably thinks you're ignoring him again!"

Sam's looking at him expectantly, and Dean nods a little bit, just to get the serious expression off his brother's face, "Okay Sammy."

Sam sighs, "and you're the equivalent of high right now, so this is useless." Sam looks at Dean who just smiles, a cheeky smile that Sam hadn't seen for a while until Cas had come into his brother's life. He really doesn't want this to mess things up for Dean. He deserves something good. He deserves a lot of good.

When Sam hears a knock on the door, Dean's long asleep. It's Jess, and she has the proffered soup, ladled out into individual cups because for some reason Ellen still thinks they can't do anything more than nuke their food (Sam makes some damn good pancakes, Dean would attest). But it's convenient, so Sam's not going to complain too much.

"Thanks Jess," Sam makes room for her in the doorway and she brings her burden to the fridge.

"No problem, I'm more than happy to help." Jess smiles that award winning smile that always makes Sam smile back, "I'm just glad this is all you need help with." The implication wipes the smile off Sam's face as he's reminded of just how close he came to losing his brother. All because of an ignored stop sign.

Dean had been going to meet with Cas and a semi-truck hit him. Sam tries not to let his English minor mind spend too long hashing out that metaphor (if Cas is to happiness as truck is to life...). Which brings Sam back to his original delema.

"Cas!"

Jess turns, startled, "Should I be jealous?" she says, and then her eyes go wide as Sam's do as they both take in the implication of her words, "I mean, it's—"

"No! No—" Sam says, a bit more emphatically than he probably should have, "Cas is Dean's, um, crush I guess. He and Dean were supposed to meet up and then Dean got in this crash and I don't think Cas knows."

"Oh! Right, okay," Jess still has color, high on her cheeks, and Sam can safely say the same goes for him, "We should, um, tell. Unless you want me to go or—"

"No, no, stay."

"Okay."

Jess and Sam stand there, in Sam and Dean's cramped apartment kitchen, until a container of soup near the edge of the counter makes a break for it. They both snap out of their dazes and go for the cup, catching it before it falls entirely off the counter top and laughing nervously as they step away from each other to respectable distances.

"So, Cas," Jess coughs, "does Dean have his phone number?"

"Um yeah, maybe." Sam turns away, getting Dean's phone out of the bad that the nurses sent them home with containing Dean's salvageable items. Sam scrolls through the names (a sad few that makes Sam cringe), but Cas' is not one of them. He shakes his head forlornly at Jess who's shoulders slump.

"Phonebook?" She suggests, halfheartedly.

Sam shakes his head, "I don't know his last name, I don't even know his real name. Cas is a nickname, but I can't remember what his full name is."

"How about where he works," Jess keeps at it, and Sam admires her for it, "if they have a name directory, we might be able to find him."

"That's right!" Sam smiles, "He works at the hospital, we talked about it forever ago." Sam goes over to his computer, and looks up St. Claire's.

"He works at the hospital and he didn't know Dean was there?" Jess comes to look over Sam's shoulder.

"He's an administer, doesn't work with patients." Sam taps his fingers, annoyed as the page takes its time loading.

"What happened with Dean and Cas?" Jess asks, astute as always, "if they're close, Dean should have his number, you should know his name."

Sam makes a vague motion halfway between a shrug and a stretch, "Dean met him through his job at the cafe, and they were close and happy, and if you knew Dean, you'd know that that's a big thing. Then Cas kissed him and Dean had this weird freak out. Like, he wasn't afraid or disgusted, but more so like he thought he should be?"

Jess nods and gets that gleam in her eye that Sam's come to associate with Jess' physiology class.

"But for a while, Dean was avoiding Cas and I don't think it went over well. And now that Dean didn't show up, and Cas doesn't know about the crash, I'm thinking Cas thinks that Dean's back to being a hyper-masculine dick again."

"Well, that won't do it all," Jess says, fighting back a smile at Sam's less than kind explanation of his brother's behavior.

Sam has to smile at her for a moment, just take it in, before he refocuses and turns back to the web-page. Cas is pretty high up there, as far as administrative positions, and he has his own e-mail and phone number listed under his short bio.

Sam's reaching for the phone when Jess whistles one elongated note, "Sam, Cas is a _Novak_. They practically own and run the hospital; everyone in their family is in it in some way. I'd be surprised if he didn't know about Dean, you'd think his family would tell him."

Sam pauses in punching in the number, "but why wouldn't he come visit?" Jess shrugs, "No, really, if you'd have met him you'd know, the way he looks at Dean... he would have totally visited."

"Maybe he didn't tell his family?" Jess shrugs, "there's that rumor that they're all really religious, so maybe being gay is a no-no."

"Oh yeah..." Sam had forgotten about that. It's not like it's all over the street, but the majority of people know about it. There was that case about six years back, before Sam had come here, when a woman said she was being denied a transplant because she was gay. Sam doesn't really remember the results of that trial outside of the fact that she got the transplant needed, but he's not sure what allegations stuck.

Sam shakes himself and puts in the last numbers, bringing the ringing phone to his ear.

"Castiel Novak's office!" a bright, feminine voice answers, "How may I help you this fine day? Although, if you're calling this number you probably have a problem, so it's not a fine day, but anyway, how can I help?"

"Um, is Cas there?"

"Cas? Oh my gosh, that is so cute! I'll have to start calling him that." Sam can hear the growing smile in her voice, "As for the man himself, he's not here—he's been out for a bit. Zachariah says he's on vacation, should be back week after next."

"Okay, um..."

"Becky," Becky answers the leading pause.

"...Becky," Sam's brow furrows, and he tries not to notice Jess stifling laughter at his obvious discomfort, "Is there any other way I can get in contact with him? Maybe a home address?"

"I can't give you that, what if you're trying to kill him?"

"I promise I'm not?"

"You didn't sound too sure of yourself there," Becky chastises, "now I certainly can't give it to you."

"Look, I'm Dean's brother and I really need to talk to Cas."

"Well, Mr. Dean's brother, I don't know any Dean, so that's not going to help. You're just going to have to wait until Castiel—Cas—gets back." Sam can almost hear her going to end the call.

"Wait!" Sam's eyes flit around the room as if something in it will give him the answer he needs, "Dean's Cas', um, boyfriend, and Cas doesn't know that Dean was in a crash. I really need to let him know so Cas knows Dean didn't stand him up on their date."

"Oh my Gosh! That is so cute! I had no idea Cas was gay, _and_ he has a boyfriend," Becky gushes, "that's too cute. Why didn't you say that earlier?"

"Um—"

"Never mind that, of course I'll help you when it comes to love!" Sam can hear papers shifting around, "Cas is a bit old fashioned, he has a land-line but it's constantly on the fritz, so the best thing to do is just stop by his house, it's on Charleston Street, 64. He didn't go away for vay-kay, as far as I know, so he should be there."

"Thank you Becky, thank you." Sam hangs up and looks at Jess with a smile.

"I'll go," Jess is quick to supply, already standing to grab her coat, and it's a though she can feel his refusals because she continues, "you need to stay here with Dean, I have a car. And like Becky said, it's for love." She winks and exits, leaving Sam bemused and delighted.

Fifteen minutes later finds Dean still fast asleep and Sam pacing for lack of anything better to do. When his cell rings, he grabs for it like a mad man.

"He's not here." Jess sounds forlorn over the phone, "I'm leaving a note, but we might want to try again later."

Sam's shoulders fall, but he thanks Jess again for her help and agrees with her assessment of the situation.

"It's really not a problem. I'm glad to help."

* * *

Back in St. Claire's, Becky can't believe the torrid affair she's just been made aware of. Cas has a boyfriend who he thinks stood him up (on what Becky imagines was going to be a hopelessly romantic date), when really, his boyfriend was in a car crash and getting treated at the very hospital that Cas works at! It's like something from one of Becky's pleasure novels, and she can't help but think that this would be the perfect scenario for a fan-fiction based off that book that everyone's in love with, she can almost remember it's name...Fifty Shades of Twilight?

Becky exists Cas' office, thoughts to the sky, when Zachariah calls her in.

"Who was that?" is his very pointed question.

"That was just Dean's brother." Becky leans in conspiratorially, "Dean was in a car accident and treated at this very hospital!"

Zachariah frowns, "Patient calls should go to the nurses' desk."

"Oh, it wasn't like that, Dean's brother just wanted to let Cas know that Dean's okay. I really should have asked for his name..." Becky trails off.

"Zachariah's scowl increases, "Who _is_ Dean?"

"It's Cas' boy—" Becky cuts herself off when she finally really looks at Zachariah's face, that is not a face Becky associates with good things, she in fact associates it with the opposite of good things; very very bad things, "Cas' friend."

"Really..." Zachariah looks away from her, eyes narrowing and Becky feels like she's gone and done something very, very bad.

"Yup, friends. Well, more of acquaintances really," Becky babbles, "Pass each other in the street kind of thing. But Dean's brother still thought Cas should know. He's just being nice."

"Becky."

"Yeah?"

"You can go now."

Becky gulps once, opens her mouth to say she doesn't even know what, but clicks it shut and leaves. It's times likes these where Becky wishes she was a bit more aware of her surroundings. Or in control of her mouth.


	16. Prickly Pear

Zachariah would send another out to do this, but this is family, and so Zachariah needs to deal with this on his own. Castiel has always been such a good boy, but Zachariah knows that that can change quickly. He doesn't explicitly think of Lucifer, but the implication is there, even to himself. If Castiel has gone go far off to be involved with some boy—if this boy is what made Castiel have that ridiculous thought that he could _quit_, that he would be able to do _anything_ without the support of the family, than Zachariah could have only hoped the crash killed him.

As it stands, Zachariah needs to make sure that this boy stays as far away from Castiel as possible. Perhaps giving him that time off was unwise, But Zachariah had had no way of knowing that there was a destructive outside influence. Regardless, Zachariah will not let this wound fester.

Castiel's small place looks as shabby as always, Zachariah suppresses a sneer, and thinks again of making Castiel move. At this point it would be twofold. Castiel would be removed from this filth, a better representation of the Novak name, and Zachariah would be able to make sure that whoever this 'Dean' is, that he'd have no more to do with Castiel. Zachariah spent too much time grooming Castiel into the man he is today—obedient, efficient, unquestioning—to allow someone to mess that up.

He rings the doorbell. Castiel does not come. Zachariah entertains the thought that he might be being ignored before dismissing the thought, no matter how this 'Dean' has changed him, Castiel still has enough sense to answer to his eldest cousin.

Just to be sure... Zachariah pulls the screen door back, preparing to knock on the wooden door behind, when a small piece of paper flutters down from where it must have been wedged between the two doors.

Zachariah watches if float to the ground, eyes following it in uncomprehending delight. Stooping to pick it up, Zachariah's smile widens, it's a hand written note, a short message telling 'Cas' that Dean's been in a crash, but he's okay and wishes to see him, a number scrawled after. This is good. Very good. Zachariah slips the paper into his suit pocket, not bothering to knock before turning to leave.

* * *

It's been a few days, but Cas is still too keyed up to do anything productive. He'd made the decision to change his employment, but taking that step towards looking for a new job is still just too much to handle. Maybe tomorrow. Cas ignores the fact that that's what he's been saying to himself ever since he'd gotten back from the hospital.

To get his mind off things, to try and expel his nerves (even though he's doing nothing wrong, this is his life and he can do what he wants with it, the nervous feeling like iron on the back of his tongue stays firmly in place) he goes to his cabinets to see what he has to cook or bake with. All that he has is the remnants of ingredients he'd used to make the dinner that didn't happen.

He throws them out. He's getting over it, he says to himself, but that doesn't make it easy.

Regardless of the reason, Cas now has to go shopping, a mundane task that seems foreign for all he's done it in recent memory. Has he really been eating at work that much?

The bus ride is long, and Cas almost wishes he hadn't forsaken his car until he remembers there is really no reason to hurry. Consciously allowing himself to linger, Cas finds shopping to be a rather pleasant experience. There are a lot of foods that he'd seen in the past but never found the time to try, to make meals out of, and now all he has is time.

The bus ride back feels longer than the one there, but Cas doesn't mind it this time, even as his bags weigh down his arms. When he gets home, it's late afternoon, sun just starting to set behind the city skyline. Cas puts his groceries away, leaving out what he wants to experiment with first.

The prickly pear is first, and after a quick web search of how to peal it, Cas is in business, letting his mind go blank as he goes through the motions. It's relaxing, and Cas is delightfully surprised when he gets to the meat of the fruit and gives it a taste. It's a cross between watermelon and raspberries, but the amount of small seeds give it a very different texture. Cas wonders vaguely how it would cook.

Putting that idea away for another day, Cas takes out a chicken breast and cuts it horizontal through the middle, making two thinner slices. He bemoans his lack of marinade, but whips together a slightly acidic teriyaki sauce and smothers the chicken in it. He lets it sit, soak it in, and goes back to the pear, getting out all of the meat and smashing it, mortar and pistol style, crushing as many of the small seeds as possible.

Cas puts his chicken on a pan in the preheated oven and sets the timer. He goes back to making the pear into a paste. By the time he's satisfied, there's only about fifteen minuets left on the chicken, so Cas goes to make some tea.

The timer rings just as Cas is stirring in the honey. Cas takes the chicken out, as he lets it cool he puts together a quick salad. Once he's done, it's cool enough to put half on a plate, the other half going straight to tupperware and into the fridge. He takes some of his paste and puts it on top. Putting some of the salad on his plate too before putting that with the chicken in the fridge.

He brings his tea and plate over to the table before going back for a napkin, fork and knife. He sits, lets the good smells overwhelm him. He cuts into the chicken, making sure it has some of the pear, and is about to put it in his mouth when he stops himself, antsy for no discernible reason.

Cas gets up and goes to his humble music system, putting in a jazz CD that always serves to calm him and fill the space with noise. Cas smiles as the alto saxophone starts up and makes his way back to the table, setting firmly in his seat.

The chicken could have done with a day long marinade, it didn't absorb enough of the teriyaki, the unabsorbed sauce making the chicken too wet with the paste on top, but the taste is good despite that, and Cas thinks it's good enough for a repeat in the future. The salad is good. Fresh. And the tea is just how he likes it; a perfectly slightly bitter cup but with that hint of honey to keep it from seeming over steeped.

Cas wonders if this is why he spends so much time at work. His house seems very lonely.


	17. Hot

"So, you're saying that you tried to get in contact with Cas, but haven't been able to?" Dean asks. Since being home, he's mostly slept, ate, and generally been what can only be described as loopy, but now, three days after that (Friday to be exact), he's more capable of _doing_ things. Even if 'things' just refers to having a conversation with his brother.

Sam shrugs, but nods, "Jess left a note with our number, but he hasn't called back."

"Well did you try again?" Dean demands, forcing himself to sit up, even if it twinges the wound on his side, "Damn it, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I _did_, Dean, you were just too drugged out to care." Sam crosses his arms, "and if you haven't noticed, I've been taking care of your ass for the last few days, so I haven't really had time."

Dean knows it's true, he knows that he's lucky that Jess has been able to bring Sam his work, because he knows he'd hate himself if the reason Sam fell behind was him. But it still isn't enough to Dean's non-rational brain; "that's no excuse."

Sam sighs, taking a seat on the chair he'd dragged to Dean's bedside two days ago. Dean won't admit it, but he's glad to not be looking up at his brother anymore.

"Dean, what's the real problem here? I know you made up with Cas, you told me. I know you were supposed to meet with him, but he's not going to hold it against you because you were in a car crash."

Intellectually, Dean knows all this, but it's like when Dean saw Cas enter the coffee shop before leaving with stuttered apologies. Dean feels like if he doesn't find Cas now, doesn't feel him solid in his arms, he's never going to find him again, and Dean just can't—

"I already screwed myself over once, Sammy. If he doesn't know about the crash…I don't want him to think I've abandoned him again. I don't think I'll be able to make things right from that."

Sam looks at Dean with soft understanding and Dean really wishes there was some distraction. He may have had his big change of heart on how to live his life, but feelings still make him uncomfortable in ways he can't really describe.

"We're gonna fix this, Dean," Sam vows.

"It's just, I've never really _wanted_ someone this much, Sammy," Dean lets his head loll to the side, unable or not wanting to stop his words, "Not Lisa, not Cassie… and I feel like, if I just, if I can't get Cas back it's going to be bad, you know? Like I'm not allowed to have what I want and that all I end up doing is hurting people."

"_Dean_," Sam placing his hand on Dean's uninjured arm, "We're going to fix this."

Dean frowns, but allows his brother's assurance to seep in, "Yeah, yeah you're right."

"Good," Sam smiles, "Now, this is only if you're up for it, but Ellen and Jo've been wanting to make sure you're alive, but I don't want them coming to the house and keeping you up. Tonight you wanna go to the Roadhouse? Show your face for a bit? And then tomorrow we'll get right on this thing with Cas."

Dean smiles, a real one, "Yeah, that sounds good. I'd love to get out of here for a bit."

"The minute you get tired though," Sam leaves the sentence unfinished.

"Yeah, yeah, Mom, I know the drill. No staying out past my bed time."

* * *

Dr. Harris calls Cas the moment her shift at the hospital ends, Cas presumes from the sound he can hear in the background.

"Castiel!" Dr. Harris cheerfully greets.

"Dr. Harris," Cas returns, giving a small nod, even though there's no way for the good doctor to know it.

"Now none of that Castiel, please call me Makia."

"Makia," Cas corrects, a small smile on his lips.

"Wonderful!" Makia gets out before continuing in a conspiratorial tone, "Now, how about going out tonight?"

"Tonight?" Cas looks over at the ingredients he'd lined on the counter, "Tonight sounds wonderful." it wasn't as if he had anything better to do. Cas knows he should be looking for a new job, and he has been, but every job he's found that he would be qualified for is more of the same. And Cas does not want to go from one job he dislikes to another. A nagging thought at the back of his mind brings up Dean's suggestion, but Cas squashes it. Not that it's not a _good_ idea, not that he wouldn't like it, he just doesn't feel capable. Besides he has no idea how to run a store of any sort.

"Oh great, I really need it after this week," Makia sighs exaggeratedly, "and best of all, I know where to get us some free drinks."

Cas makes a questioning noise, unable to stop his mind from going back to when he himself had some free drinks. Perhaps this isn't a good idea. He certainly hadn't been able to handle the alcohol well his first time.

"A patient of mine told me to call if I ever needed a freebie."

Cas' eyebrows raises, "Isn't that unethical?"

Makia makes a dismissive sound, "it's just a few drinks, and I'll leave a nice tip."

Cas finds himself smiling despite his misgivings, Makia is a very hard person to be melancholy around, Cas is quickly finding.

"Very well."

"Great! I'll pick you up at five? We can go to the bar and then see what we're up for after that."

Cas agrees and rattles off his address, putting the food on his counter away with his free hand.

"Make sure to dress hot!" is Makia's parting remark and Cas freezes, a mango in one hand and the phone still to his ear, even as the dial tone starts.

"...hot?"

This might be harder than Cas thought.

* * *

The drive to the Roadhouse was half-way agony; every pot hole was hell, and Dean had never noticed how many there were before now. He's contemplating writing a letter to the city officials. But when they, Jess, Sam and Dean, pull up to the Roadhouse, Dean knows it was worth it.

He hadn't realized he missed the place as much as he did until he's being ushered into it. Ellen is quick to give a hoot when he walks in, softening her hug just enough so Dean doesn't feel like he's in danger of breaking his arm _again_. The plaster is itchy and the sling annoying, Dean would rather not have to wear it any longer than necessary.

Jo is a bit more contained, calling him an idiot for getting run into, even though it was in no way his fault (the car insurance company even agreed, so that just tells one how not-Dean's-fault this whole endeavor was). But she still gives him a fierce hug and drags his to the bar, sitting him on a stool so he doesn't go 'exerting himself'. Dean sends a glare Sam's way, but the taller man just looks amused.

"And here ya go." Ellen places a bowl of soup in front of him, a cup of water to the side and Dean almost whines.

"El-_len_"

"Nope, Sam's already given us the rundown."

Dean glares a bit more pointedly at Sam and gets a cheeky grin back as he and Jess take the seats to his left. It doesn't go unnoticed by Dean that they're holding hands under the bar, but he'll let it go this once.

As the bar starts to fill up and more regulars come in, Dean's surprised by the number of greetings, well wishes, and missed yous he gets. It's really nice to know he's been missed, that his absence has been noticeable, even if its from people he doesn't know the names of and who don't know his. Sarah even gives him a half-hug and ruffles his hair when she arrives for her shift.

It's good. Dean's good. He has water with his soup instead of beer, but it's still good. It gives Dean hope for all the tomorrows, that they'll be good too.

Dean's cell rings in his pocket and he brings it up, and unfamiliar number but he shrugs and answers it anyway, "Hello?"

Dean pauses as the other speaks, "Yeah sure, no problem at all. I'm actually here now."

Dean gives a laugh, "Really, it's nothing, you're the one who did the hard work. I'll see you in a bit, 'kay?"

Dean hangs up and goes back to soaking in the atmosphere he's sorely missed.

* * *

When Makia shows up at Cas', he's shocked to find she's right on time. He though he'd had more, but the clock and knock on the door proves him wrong. He hopes what he's wearing will be enough.

He opens the door and Makia looks beautiful, not overly showy, but lovely. A green, brown and white top, loose on her bosom but belted around her waist brings out the figure her doctor's coat valiantly tries to hid. The dark wash jeans stick to her curves, a touch of purplish-red accentuates her lips, and her gold bracelets, necklace and earrings stand out against her dark skin and sparkle in the dim light. She's stunning.

Cas looks down at himself as Makia does, slacks that he'd wear to the hospital on any given day, a loose white button up and his dress shoes. He shifts self-consciously. He's clearly failed at his task. Makia thinks so too, with the way one eyebrow has raised.

"That won't do at all," Makia doesn't hold back and Cas sighs, stepping away to allow her him his home.

"I don't really know how to dress 'hot'" Cas parrots the word.

Makia gives a laugh, "that I can see. Now, where's your closet."

Cas, bemused, leads her to his room and closet which she opens and starts poking around right away. She ruffles through his wardrobe, bringing clothes closer before pushing them away just as fast. Cas is thankful for her help, he'd never have been able to do this on his own.

Makia pulls back, a soft frown on her lips, "Do you have any jeans, Castiel?"

Cas blinks and steps forward, Makia steps back to give him room, "I might have a pair, but they're from college." Cas rifles around, "Here." he pulls the offending garment out, holding it out to Makia for her inspection.

She nods contemplatively, "well go see if they fit. I'll try to find a shirt that doesn't look two sizes too big for you."

Cas goes and does as he's told, changing in the bathroom for proprieties sake. The jeans fit, but they're snug, he'd had to do a foolish hop to pull them all the way up. They're darker than Makia's and have some wear on his left knee and right upper thigh. He looks at himself in the mirror, but can't tell if they qualify as 'hot'.

"Will these do?" He asks Makia, coming from the bathroom.

She gives him an appraising look, "pull your shirt up." Cas does so Makia can see the waist of it as he assumed she wanted, "Now give us a spin." Cas does.

"Perfect," Makia smiles and Cas smiles back, "Now try on this shirt." she hands him a green button down, one Cas was unaware he still possessed. Cas took his leave and changed in the bathroom, noticing absently that the green of it matched Makia's shirt. The button down was shorter than his normal which he would just tuck into his pants, it was a bit unnerving, especially because it was a lot fitter than his normal as well. But when he exited the bathroom and saw the happy smile on Makia's face, it didn't seem that bad any more.

"Wonderful!" Makia claps her hands together in apparent delight, "just get some shoes on those feet and we're ready to go."

Cas goes for his brown loafers and once he's put them on and grabs his wallet and house keys, the two head out the door. The drive to wherever Makia's taking them is pleasant, the radio's on, but whatever comes from it is lost in Makia's chatter.

She tells Cas about the patient who's giving them the drinks, he was the patient that Makia had just been leaving when she'd knocked into Cas. He'd been in a car crash, a bad one, blindsided by a truck, and they'd almost lost him, she says, but he'd come back from the brink every time.

He'd gotten hurt badly, "But he'll fully recover given time." She ends with a smile.

"That's good to hear," Cas answers and Makia laughs.

"Isn't it just?" Makia goes on, "good thing too, or his girlfriend might've killed him."

"Hm?"

"Oh he wouldn't stop talking about her when he was on the good stuff—" Cas assumes she meant pain killers, "-I never met her myself, but she's a lucky one, he's cute and obviously thinks she's the best thing."

"That's sweet."

Makia nods as she steers her car into a pull off, "and we're here!"

Cas looks out to find himself in the parking lot of the Roadhouse. He feel's his stomach drop. "Oh."

Makia is already out of the car when she notices Cas hasn't joined her, "anything wrong Castiel?"

Cas steels himself, reassuring himself that Dean will likely not be here at all, and if he is, he will simply ignore Cas. Cas can't ruin Makia's night because of this, Cas can't let his own night be ruined because of this.

"No, nothing," Cas gets out of the car and forces a smile, taking Makia's pro-offered hand as they walk to the entrance.

They walk in, the place is loud and jovial, an air of celebration; for what reason, neither newcomer knows. Cas does a quick sweep of the place, but doesn't see Dean serving in the tabled area of behind the bar, so he lets himself relax.

"Oh, there's my patient," Makia looks towards the bar, "Best to let him know to start paying up."

Cas follows her line of sight and freezes. There's Dean, and he's turning around. Their eyes meet and it pins Cas in place just as it had done before, and Cas tenses up, the desire to run building steadily, the only thing stopping him was the hand holding his.

"Cas?!"


	18. Water

"Cas?" Makia turns to look at him, eyes wide, but Cas does not remove his eyes from Dean, "you're _Cas_?" a crash sounds from the other side of the bar and Makia whips her head around to see Dean struggling to rush over, "Hey! No exerting yourself!" she yells at her patient, but Dean doesn't stop until he's made his way across the bar to where they stand.

"Cas," Dean says in one long exhale, the hand not in a sling hovering over Cas' shoulder as his eyes roam, as if Cas might just go and disappear.

"You were…" Cas trails off, letting himself take stock of Dean's obvious injuries (the sling, the scabbed cut on his forehead, the faded bruising on his cheek) and matching them up with what Makia had told him about Dean before he even knew it _was_ Dean, "you almost died!"

"Um yeah, I was in a car crash," Dean dismisses, and Cas wants to hit him over the head for talking so jovially about something that Cas knows from Makia almost resulted in his death—had resulted in cardiac arrest three times—but he's injured, so Cas holds back, "didn't you get Jess' note?"

"No!" Cas scowled, "do you think I would have ignored you had I?" Cas reaches forward and pulls up Dean's shirt, face changing rapidly from anger to worry. He knows Dean's okay, knows that Dean will heal, but to have so quickly come to the realization that who Makia has been talking about was _Dean_… Cas had felt bad for the victim before, but well now, now he has a bit more of a personal stake in it. Now, everything that Makia told him comes rushing back and sounds ten times worse. The gauze, pristine white, has Cas dizzy with worry, even though he knows, he _knows_ that Dean's okay. This must be why family members are never told the full extent of what's happened to their loved ones. It's bad for everyone's health.

"This was a very stupid way to get out of our date."

Dean laughs and Cas loves it, loves that little proof of life. It's amazing how the man who hurt him so much—first purposefully then simply due to circumstance—could still mean this much. It's overwhelming.

"Come on, Sweetie," Makia puts a hand on Cas' back, pushing him forward, "let's get you and Dean to a table and you two can hash things out."

"Oh, Makia," Cas looks quickly between Dean and her, even as he's being corralled forward "I-I can't—Dean, I came here with Makia, I can't leave her."

"What's that nonsense?" Makia gives a laugh, "If half the things Dean said when under the pain meds were right, you won't even know I'm gone, I'll just hang out over with Dean's brother and his girlfriend, I'm sure they can introduce me to some fine folk. It'll be fun."

Cas gives Makia an ashamed look, "Really?"

"I'll certainly make the most of it." Makia winks and saunters off, leaving the two at a small corner table. Cas is so grateful to her.

"She's great," Dean gives Cas a small smile, motioning to Makia's retreating form.

"Yes," Cas smiles back, "she's been a great friend to me. And she saved you." He tacks on, the revelation still new and fragile in his mind.

Dean rubs the back of his head with his good hand, "you look nice."

Cas blinks and looks down at himself in confusion, having forgotten already that he is in what Makia has sanctioned as 'hot' clothes, "thank you," Cas feels heat rising to his cheeks, suddenly embarrassed in what he's wearing, "you've looked better."

Dean laughs lightly, "Well, that'll happen." He clears his throat, "Cas, I'm sorry, really."

Cas knows what he's referring to. How could he not when it's been on his mind all this time, "It wasn't your fault that you were hit, Dean."

"Ain't that the truth," Dean smirks before sobering, "but it's just, after I was an ass to you before, you had to have thought…"

Cas clears his throat, "I did."

Dean swallows hard, throat suddenly dry. He doesn't know what to say, Cas just confirmed that he though Dean had ditched him again, ignored him, even after what happened in the café. And Dean couldn't blame him, ten or so minutes in the coffee shop couldn't replace what he'd done before, certainly when paired with what looked pretty clearly like rejection after. Even so, Cas thinking that Dean's words then were false—that hurts.

"So you thought at the shop, 's just me…" Dean throat tightens, "_playing_ you?"

Cas' eyes meet Dean's, wide open and blue, and it looks like he wants to reassure, the tell Dean exactly what he wants to hear to make this better, but he stalls himself, and Dean is grateful for it, "I didn't know what to think. At first it was that you might just be late. But then the hours went on and I knew you weren't coming. I figured myself a fool; you know the saying, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…"

Dean's throat feels tight, he wants to say 'that isn't me' and 'I'd _never_ do that' but that's not what this is about. He has to let Cas get it all out, because even though Dean didn't mean to, not at all, it doesn't invalidate the hurt that Cas experienced.

"I know it means nothing now—you were in a car crash, you almost _died_—but, it still," Cas gives a wan smile, "I threw out a lot of food the other day."

"What?" Dean starts at the non sequitur.

Cas shakes his head dismissively, "suffice to say, it still hurt—still _hurts_. And I know it's doesn't make sense, but—" Cas shrugs.

"Yeah…" Dean says, actually getting it. It's not the same situation, but Dean's heart was pretty unreadable, even to himself, when Lisa told him to go follow his brother—and not come back—when he'd pulled out the ring. At that time it'd been an odd mix of feelings (all smothered by a relief he wouldn't admit to feeling) and Dean thinks that that might be like what Cas is feeling, especially now that it's not so cut and dry.

Cas brings his hand onto the table, placing it so it just brushes Dean's, "I'm glad you're okay."

Dean smiles, "Me too."

"Here you boys go!" Sarah cuts in to their bubble of silence, putting two waters in front of them. Dean feels a half-hearted protest build in his throat, but one quick look at Cas has him biting it back. He wonders who else knows Cas is a lightweight.

"Thanks, Sarah" Dean says instead. Cas gives a small thanks of his own before taking a long sip of the water, adam's apple bobbing.

"I really want to kiss you." Dean doesn't realize he's said that out loud until Cas is choking on his water, a fierce blush on his cheeks as he wipes his face with his sleeve. Dean's not as embarrassed by his comment now as he should be.

Cas gives one more small cough before clearing his throat.

"I'd like that," Cas mumbles, glancing at Dean's lips before looking down and away.

Dean smiles and thinks yeah, they're going to be okay, before leaning some across the table, casted arm making his moves more awkward than anything.

Cas pulls back and Dean's eyes widen and he swears his heart stops beating, but then Cas furiously whispers, "not _here_," red high on his cheeks and Dean recalls where they are in a rush. It totally fits that Cas is shy about PDA. It's kinda cute.

Dean's actually a bit surprised about his own stance on PDA. When before, when he was with someone for a night, it didn't matter how touchy he got, people knew what they were going to do the moment they left the bar. With Lisa, the most they did was chaste kisses in public, and at home, what with Ben around. But here, with Cas, Dean really wouldn't mind kissing him in front of everyone, letting people know that Cas is taken. Marking his territory, if you will. It's base and not a feeling he's dealt with before, never this fierce want for everyone to know who Cas is with, that they can't have him; this jealousy over nothing. If Cas doesn't want to be kissed in public…Dean makes a mental note to leave some hickies, just as a formal warning to others. If that thought makes Dean's gut heat up as he looks at Cas' smooth pale neck, well, that's not really an issue now, is it?

"Okay," Dean smiles, "we should meet at my place. And by that I mean you should drive me home. And stay there."

"I don't have a car," Cas blinks at Dean.

"You can drive," Dean's quick to supply, "Sammy's staying at Jess' tonight, so he'll get a ride with her." Dean leaves out that they'll be driving Jess' car, and the ride his brother and Jess will be getting is in the back of a taxi.

"are you sure…?" Cas hedges.

"If you don't want to, Cas, that's fine," Dean says, ignoring the way his gut clenches at his words.

"No, no! I do!" Cas reassures, almost too loudly for the small space between them, "I just don't want to intrude."

"Naw, it's fine, I'd love the company." Dean gets up, "And I've missed you. I'll be right back, just need to get the keys." Cas nods and Dean makes his way across the room to where Jess, Sam and Makia are all laughing loudly.

"Hey Jess, you mind if I take your car?" Dean holds his good hand out expectantly, "I'll pay you the taxi fair"

Sam comes down from his laugh quickly and Dean feels a bit of remorse for his tackles question, so he elaborates before Sam can question, "Cas' gonna drive me home, you're gonna spend the night at Jess'"

"I am?" Sam raises one eyebrow, amusement coming off him in waves. Dean would feel he had more of a right to be annoyed if not for the fact that without his brother he wouldn't have been able to get his head out of his own ass to get with Cas in the first place.

"Yeah," it doesn't stop Dean from rolling his eyes though, "If I have to spend one more night watching you two make moon eyes at one another, or calling each other when you've been apart for all of five minutes, I'm gonna barf. So spend the night together, have fun, read a book or whatever you crazy kids call it these days."

Jess pulls out the keys without a word. Makia laughs and Dean can't suppress a smile at how read both Sam and Jess' faces are. Dean snatches the keys and gives a sing-song 'thank you!' before turning on his heel and coming up to Cas again, catching Makia offer his brother and Jess a ride as he goes.

"Hey Cas," Dean smiles fondly, a touch of his earlier amusement still in place, "ready?"

Cas nods and the two make their way out of the bar. The shock of cold air against heated skin is enough to make them both give a little shiver, but luckily Jess' car is close. Cas seats himself in the driver's seat and Dean slides in passenger side. Cas takes the keys and turns on the car, slowly driving them to Dean's based on said man's directions. They go slow, just under the speed limit, and obey all traffic signs to a tee. Dean would normally complain unendingly (he doesn't want to grow old in this car), but the slower pace is easier on his stomach wound, and Dean suspects he knows why Cas is going so slowly anyway.

They pull up the Dean's and Sam's and Cas kills the engine, stilling for a moment before getting out of the car and helping Dean out of his side. Dean would protest, he doesn't need the help, really, but he likes how warm Cas' hands are on him.

When Dean unlocks the door and they step inside, Dean lets out a long exhale and is amazed at how tired he suddenly is. He's certainly not going to give into it though, not with Cas here, finally.

Cas brings himself and Dean to the couch, bringing Dean down to the couch as smoothly as possible, before taking a seat next to him.

"Do you need any water? Painkillers?" Cas asks, already preparing to get up.

"No, no, m'fine." Dean brings his good hand up and places it firmly on the back of Cas' neck, imploring him to stay with his eyes.

Cas seems to understand, because he settles more fully into the couch, turning to face Dean. Dean's hand slips from his neck to his shoulder with the movement, and he uses the new hold to pull Cas closer.

"C'mere," Dean gets out, mentally cursing his casted arm, his hurt side, all restricting his movements, "look so hot it that," Dean mumbles as Cas comes closer, "look hot in your suit too, but this is just..." Dean trails off as he notices Cas' blush, remembers that Cas' new to this, _all _of this, and a surge of warmth shoots to his gut and a possessive part of him _yearns_.

When Cas gets close enough, Dean noses at his cheek, lips brushing skin more as a side effect than any planned action. Cas lets out a shuddering breath and Dean thinks he's about to retreat when instead Cas shifts, moves his body closer, knee knocking Dean's, shoulders bumping. His breath is warm of Dean's face as he drags his lips along Cas' jaw back to his ear. Dean latches his lips—just the lips, no hard press of teeth—around the lobe and tugs. Cas sighs, low and long, a minute shiver traveling up his spine.

Dean pulls back, his good hand going from Cas' shoulder to his hair, twisting within dark brown locks. Cas' eyes are closed, lips just the slightest bit parted, and Dean's reminded of their kiss in the coffee shop, but then Cas' lips had been shiny and red, now they're a pale pink, almost chapped. Dean resolves to fix that. And maybe buy Cas some chap stick.

Cas' eyes are just fluttering open when Dean uses the hand in Cas' hair to drag him in. Dean nips at Cas' lips, feeling the gasp against his own. Dean uses his hold on Cas to tilt his head, make it easier to kiss long and deep, like they haven't been able to yet. Dean's tongue enters through Cas' parted lips, he teases the roof of Cas' mouth and loves the way Cas squirms at the sensation.

Dean feels Cas' hands raise over his shoulders, but they hover, not touching before Cas brings then back to his lap. Dean huffs into Cas' mouth, drawing Cas' tongue out and sucking it into his own mouth, eliciting a startled groan. When he pulls away, Cas' lips certainly are shiny and red, Dean smiles at his handy work.

"You can touch me, you know. I won't break," Dean says, loosening his hold of Cas' hair and instead petting the hair under his hand.

Cas makes a small aborted head shake, "I don't want to hurt you." Before Dean can give a rousing response of 'you wont' Cas continues, "and I know that you won't go away again, but...i think it would be better if I don't touch." _so it can't be taken away_ goes unsaid.

Dean's heart aches and he drags Cas back to him, kissing him deep, tongues dancing. A small string of saliva keeps their lips connected for a few precious seconds when Dean pulls away again. He doesn't go as far this time, resting his forehead against Cas, hand slipping to the back of Cas' neck.

"Wont leave, Cas, not gonna leave you," Dean's brow furrows, eyes closed tight, and he presses his forehead harder against Cas. Cas makes a soft sound that Dean's not sure how to interpret, but one of Cas' hands latches on to the hem of Dean's shirt, and Dean sighs.

His head suddenly feels heavy. He lets it fall to Cas' shoulder, turning inward to Cas' neck. He remembers his earlier promise to himself and sets to work, teeth nipping lightly at flesh, tongue laving at the sting before capturing it under his lips and sucking, drawing the blood to the surface. Cas lets out a startled guttural sound at the first brush of teeth before going all but boneless, head tilting back to give Dean more access.

Dean's good hand, his right hand, falls from Cas' neck to the couch to support himself as he leans more of his weight against Cas, pushing him into lying on the couch, legs still at an awkward angle, but he doesn't seem to be complaining.

Dean's stomach wound twinges, but he ignores it, redoubling his efforts to leave as permanent a mark on Cas' neck as he can. It's juvenile, middle school possessive, but Cas isn't saying anything, and Dean's certainly not going to stop.

Cas shivers against the feeling, Dean's lips feel good against his skin, have felt good every time they've been against him, but—Cas' head tilts back more—he had had no idea his neck is this sensitive. The scrape of teeth and the pull on his skin as Dean sucks makes him tingle all over, the feeling intensified at every brush of stubble against his skin.

Dean lightens up and Cas lets out a harsh exhale. Dean's warm breath makes the sensitive skin lights up with nerves, Cas breathes through it. They lay in silence, and Cas wonders vaguely when Dean went from hovering over him to pressing him into the couch with his weight. He'd been a bit distracted.

Cas squirms slightly, "...Dean?"

Dean doesn't answer, doesn't move.

"Dean." Cas says a bit louder, getting one hand free to lightly shake Dean's good shoulder. Dean makes a small sound and his head shifts, burying itself further into the crook of Cas' neck. When realization hits, Cas lets out a small laugh. He highly doubts that Dean meant to fall asleep on him.

After some rather difficult maneuvering, Cas is able to haul Dean up and start him towards a bedroom that Cas is just going to assume is Dean's based off of the gauze on the side table. Dean half wakes for the transition (which is wonderful, Cas is certain he wouldn't have been able to move Dean without at least a little of the man's help) and mumbles nothings into Cas' hair as they walk. Cas remembers what Makia said about Dean, about how he'd gone on about Cas, and Cas can't help but smile even as he blushes.

When in the bedroom, after putting Dean on the bed, Cas unties Dean's shoes and removes them with his socks. After a moment of indecision and lip biting, Cas pulls off Dean's jeans. The shirt is too hard, with the sling and cast. Cas gives a thought to removing the sling, but the buckle is too hard to reach with how Dean's laying, so Cas simply pulls the sheet up over the already softly snoring man.

Before he can think it, Cas places his lips softly on Dean's forehead and whispers a soft good night. When he leaves the room, Dean's smiling in his sleep.

* * *

sorry this took so long! I was not expecting school to cut in as it did, and I had a bit of writers block for a bit there. but hey, here it is :) I don't know when my next update will be, I have a bit of travel happening over this thanksgiving week, but I'll try (and hey, I didn't leave you on a cliffhanger)


	19. Breakfast

Dean wakes up slowly; the sun is warming his free arm, voices filter in softly from the other room, and his bed is lulling him back under. It's nice. The only fuzzy spot is how exactly he got _into_ his bed. And who on earth his brother could be talking to…

Oh.

Dean shoots up, and he would be pleasantly surprised that his stomach wound didn't even twinge if he had the mental prowess to think about anything other than the fact that Cas was with him last night and now he's in his bed and oh god, he fell asleep. For someone like Dean, who's prided himself in his sexual prowess more so than he perhaps ought, it's a bit of a blow.

Dean swings his legs over the side of the bed, and when his feet touch the ground, taking in the hardwood that is certainly not as warm as his bed, he realizes that he's in only his boxers. Dean's face heats up. Cas must have undressed him some. How thoughtful.

The sling was mussed in his sleep, so Dean takes his time rearranging it into a more comfortable position. He normally doesn't sleep with it on, but he's glad for the distraction now. Dean glances at the clock on his night stand: 11:30am, Saturday. Time to face the music.

Dean pulls on some sweats (he's taken to wearing them more and more since his injury, they're so easy to pull on one-handed and don't put pressure on his healing stomach) and makes his way out of his room at a shuffling pace.

Sam is standing, leaning against the little bar/counter that serves as their table when they're feeling to human for eating on the couch to fly, a cup of coffee in his hands and a smile that says he had a good night. Cas is…Cas is sitting on a stool brought up to the counter, but that's not what arrests Dean's eyes; Cas has a high school sized hickey on his neck, red and aggravated looking, and he's doing absolutely nothing to hide it. Dean can see Sam's raised eyebrow and big smile out of the corner of his eye, and even as his face heats up, he can't decide if he's more embarrassed or pleased with how nicely the mark sits on Cas' neck and how unashamed Cas is.

"Good morning Dean," Cas breaks Dean out of his staring.

"Hey Cas," Dean says, smiling back at him, "'M glad you're still here." Cas ducks his head just a bit, cheeks going an endearing pink, and Dean really likes that look on him.

Dean clears his throat as Sam's chuckle-gone-cough reminds him of his brother's presence, "So, how was _your _night, Sammy?" Dean infuses just the right level of teasing into his tone to set the world back in balance.

Sam goes red at the implication, but answers steadily, "Really good, actually, Makia's a hell of a lot of fun and drank Ash under the table"

Dean feels his eyes almost bug out. Ash is Ellen's stock boy/tech expert/ freeloader. Dean's not actually altogether sure which of those titles Ash actually fulfills the duties of (besides freeloader), but the guy's fun and drinks like a fish, even more than Sarah (who he's not ashamed to admit beat him terribly after work once during his second week on the job).

"Wow."

Sam nods, the same disbelieving size to his eyes, "Yeah, it was wild. Then she gave us a lift to Jess' and we went to sleep—actual sleep." Sam forestalls any untoward suggestions, "Which," Sam's face gains a smirk and Dean forces down the reflex to gulp, "is what I hear happened here too."

"Injured!" Dean retaliates quickly, embarrassment making him flush. Cas looks between the two brothers, somewhat bewildered by their interaction.

"By the way," Sam says after rolling his eyes at Dean's comeback, "Where'd you end up sleeping, Cas?"

Dean turns to get the answer too, only now taking in that Cas is still wearing his clothes from yesterday (albeit more rumpled). They still look good on him. Really good. Dean licks his lips.

"The couch," Cas answers with a blink, as if anything else hadn't occurred to him.

"You could have taken my bed, if you didn't want to sleep with Dean," Sam says. And Dean knows that Sam says it innocently, but it doesn't stop Cas' cheeks from heating up.

"No, I couldn't," he shakes his head, "and it was perfectly fine."

Sam shrugs, allowing Cas his opinion, regardless of the fact that he knows very well that 'fine' is a gross overstatement on the state of their couch, "well, now that you're up, _Dean_," Sam gives him a bit of a glare, probably for sleeping in so late (not his fault!), "I actually have to go, Jess, Andy, Ava and I are going to study for our tests together."

"You guys share a class?" Dean asks, Sam's pre-law, Jess just changed her major to, what was it, linguistics? Psych? And Dean could have sworn that Andy was doing some weird brain stuff and Ava was all about animal science.

"No, we're just going to all be together and studying for our different tests." Sam expounds, "I know, it's weird, but when everyone's doing their own studying, it's easier to be productive, stay focused."

Dean waves his hand dismissingly, his brother's crazy, nothing new, "go be smart." Is his good bye, and Sam scoffs, but he smiles as he heads to the door.

"Have a good afternoon guys!"

The door closes behind him. Silence doesn't have time to descend when Dean finds himself reaching out and brushing the tips of his fingers against the mark he'd left on Cas. Cas inhales quickly, the end of it catching in his throat. He brings his own hand up to touch the mark.

"Oh," Cas says more to himself than Dean, "I forgot that was there."

Dean waits for Cas to attempt to cover it, hide it, but he just gives a small twitch up of his lips and lets his hand drop. It makes something warm go off inside Dean, the same curling satisfaction that Dean had when he put the mark there in the first place.

"So," Dean swallows down his inappropriate words until something resembling normal human interaction can surface, "you want some breakfast?"

Cas gives a bashful smile, "I was going to make you something, but I didn't know what you like."

Dean blinks, "pretty much anything."

"Okay," Cas stands, "I'll cook breakfast. As a thanks for letting me stay the night."

Dean gives a crooked smile, "and making you put me to bed and sleep on the couch?"

Cas concedes the point with a graceful inclination of his head, but he doesn't stop looking in Dean's cupboards or fridge, pulling out ingredients at random. Dean has to admit he's grateful, he makes a mean breakfast, but it's a lot harder with only one hand. He really can't wait to get this cast off (two weeks and counting!).

"When I'm free of this thing, I'll cook you breakfast, how's that?" Dean asks, pointing to where the pans are as Cas continues his search.

Cas pulls out a pan and smiles, "That would be great."

Cas sets about cracking some eggs into a bowl and whisking them adding a dash of milk, a smile still on his face, Dean watches him work and thinks again how much it sucks that Cas doesn't get to do what he loves because of some familial obligation.

"You should cook more often," Dean says, because he doesn't think 'you should fuck those ass-holes you work with and do what you want' will go over well.

Cas' smile falters and he sighs, "Well, I certainly have the time now." He puts the bowl down and chops up some of the scarce vegetables that were in the fridge. Dean and Sam perhaps get tack out more than they really should.

Dean makes a questioning sound, reaching out to snag a bit of cut up red pepper, Cas notices, but doesn't chastise him, and Dean's strangely pleased by that.

"I quit none too long ago. Where's your wax paper?"

"You quit?!" Dean thinks he doesn't do a very good job of hiding his excitement about that, he brings his voice down to a more respectable volume, "the drawer to the left."

Cas pulls it out with a happy little sound and puts a sheet across a cookie sheet and turns on the stove top along with the oven.

"It wasn't making me happy."

Dean blithers for a moment, wherein Cas cuts up two apples into wedges and puts a hand over the pan on the burner to check it's heat.

"Exactly!" Dean's good arm goes out in emphasis, "I mean, good, good for you, I'm glad."

Cas gives him a glance from the corner of his eye but doesn't comment on his excitement well past acceptable levels.

"So," Dean clears his throat, "what are you going to do instead?"

Cas takes a moment to think, pouring the eggs mixed with milk into the pan he'd put some butter in and placing apple slices on the wax paper covered cookie sheet, "I don't know. Everything I'm qualified for is more of the same."

Dean wonders if now's the time to mention what he had before, but his mouth takes away his chance to punk out, "Open a café."

Cas gives a short laugh, "I'm hardly qualified," he dusts the apple slices with cinnamon and brown sugar and puts the sheet in the oven, setting the timer before checking on the eggs and mixing them around with a spatula.

"That's the beauty, Cas," Dean tracks his movements as Cas puts the chopped up vegetables into the eggs along with a bit of cheese (that Dean didn't even know they had and really hopes is still good), "you don't _need_ experience, all you need is to cook well, and you certainly do that. Get someone else to do the finances side. You don't have to do it alone."

Cas mixes the eggs some more, "I don't know. I'd hate to start something like that and then do poorly. Opening a shop takes a lot of money, especially to get started. I wouldn't want to waste it."

"You wouldn't be! I'd be willing to bet on a shop you make doing well."

Cas gives a smile that tells Dean he's letting himself be indulged, which has the bad drawback of Cas still keeping the idea purely in the theoretical and not seeing how possible it actually is. Cas gets out two plates and splits the eggs between them, bringing the pan to the sink to wash. Cas gets on that, despite Dean's protests, and Dean feels especially useless as he watches Cas clean.

"How has your recovery been?" Cas changes the subject with no preamble. Dean's grateful, he doesn't want to get frustrated when he knows it's not Cas he'd be angry with, but not sure that Cas would see it that way.

"Annoying." Dean sighs. Cas puts the pan in the dish drain that Dean had laughed at Sam for buying when he'd first seen it. Cas turns off the stove top and checks on the apples, making a sound that encourages Dean to elaborate.

"I haven't been able to work yet, so people are covering my shifts, and I'm certainly going to owe 'em when I get back in—end of next week, actually." Dean hadn't realized he'd be back in business that soon, not that he still wouldn't be limited, what with the cast and all, "and then there's the bit where, since I'm not working, I'm not getting paid. Ellen's being awesome about and, and giving me sick leave and making Sam and me awesome food. And Crowley, the owner of the coffee shop, is being pretty okay about it; I still have a job when I get back.

"So I'm getting a bit from Ellen, and it's enough to cover living expenses with Sam's part time job, but I really need the other money to keep up on loan payments for Sammy. And insurance is taking for_ever_ to go through, we really can't deal with medical bills on top of everything else… Oh man, sorry Cas, you really didn't need to know all that."

"It's no problem, really," Cas assures, setting a plate down in front of Dean with eggs and vegetables and bakes apples that remind him of apple pie, "It must have been weighing on you heavily, it's good to get it out."

"Thanks," Dean says, and it's two-fold.

Cas smiles, and Dean knows he gets it, "what would you like to drink?"

"Just water would be great."

Cas gets them both cups of it and sets them down. As they eat (and it's good, Dean promises he'll keep on about that shop thing, Cas really would be awesome at it), by unspoken agreement, they steer clear of heavy topics. By the end of the meal, Dean's learned that Cas' favorite season is winter because he loves to iceskate, he has three older brothers and an older sister, he's always wanted a pet but never had one, and he loves to play records and read anything and everything, but he has a guilty pleasure for harlequin romance novels and Dean tries not to laugh at it. Cas has learned the Dean loves summer because the beach is 'awesome', he just has Sam but that that's 'more than enough', he and Sam had a dog once named Bones and he suspects that they'd have one now if not for their apartment policy against animals, and that Sam's going to go to Stanford for graduate school and that makes Dean proud beyond belief, that his little brother is going to do so much good.

The meal is nice, Dean convinces Cas to let the dishes sit in the sink, and before Cas can get a word out about going back home, Dean offers him up some comfy clothes of his and a movie. When Cas comes out of Dean's room in an extra pair of sweats and a tee shirt that is about three sizes too big for him, he should look ridiculous. He doesn't. That possessive coil in Dean squeezes tight at the sight, so much of Cas' collar bone shows through the shirt's collar and Cas just looks so small. Dean had had every intention of actually watching _Indiana Jones _when he'd learned that Cas has never seen them. Now he's not so sure he'll be able to.

Dean pops in the DVD and sits himself on the couch, motioning, then pulling Cas towards him and pulling Cas down so he leans on Dean's uninjured side.

"Comfy?" Dean asks, arm around Cas' shoulders. Cas makes a contented sound settles in for the movie. Dean lasts almost all the way through _Raiders of the Lost Ark_ before nosing at Cas' hair turns into nipping at Cas' ear and kissing right behind it. Dean has a moment of regret when Cas turns to face him, because it's right when the Ark opens and the bad guys melt in that sickly fascinating way, but then soft lips are on his and Dean couldn't care less.

They're slow kisses, a kind Dean doesn't really remember ever having—kissing only being a prelude for what comes after—with no expectation beyond what they are. They're loud though, a smacking sound of lips when they part for breath, wet lethargy when they come back together. Dean's high on the feeling, and Cas doesn't seem that much different, eyes cloudy and not moving from staring at Dean's lips.

Dean licks them and gets a thrill when Cas' eyes follow the movement.

"Good movie?" he asks teasingly.

Cas drags his eyes to Deans and nods solemnly, "Great ending."

Dean can't help from snorting, "You didn't even watch it."

"I know" Cas leans forward and they're kissing again and Dean has no problem with that.

When Dean hears the door open some indiscriminate time later, he becomes aware of the TV bouncing around the DVD symbol as it waits for instructions, and the fact that he doesn't jerk back, doesn't _think_ about jerking back, away, to hide what they've so obviously been doing.

Sam's holding groceries, but he takes a moment to take them in, glancing at Dean and Cas on the couch and the TV screen, "Good movie?"

"Yup." Dean smiles cheekily and Sam just rolls his eyes.

"Would you like to to help with that?" Cas offers, moving to get off the couch.

"Noo!" Dean whines, good hand tugging on the loose shirt, but not enough to stop Cas.

"It's the least I can do, Dean."

"Sam can do it, he's a big boy."

Cas gives him an amused look, but still leaves, going to the kitchen area and helping Sam put things away, Sam giving an exaggerated _'thank_ you' just to irritate Dean, he's sure.

The groceries get put away quickly and Sam's pulling out a boxed pizza, setting the oven to pre-heat.

"It's not fancy, but it's warm," he shrugs.

"I should get going," Cas shifts from foot to foot, "I've hung around long enough"

Dean struggles to get himself off the couch, "what're you saying, Cas? That's crazy."

"I do need to shower, Dean."

"'ve got one around the corner," Dean jerks his thumb in the direction of the shower, as he walks over to Cas, going just within his personal space.

"Clothes?" does Dean imagine it, or does Cas sway a bit closer, "I can't just keep wearing yours."

"I've got no problem with that," Dean lets good hand pull on the hem of the borrowed shirt.

Cas does lean in a bit further at that, and Dean knows they're gonna kiss, can't believe he's still as hyped for this as he was when they first kissed, and—the oven goes off.

"Oh great! The oven's pre-heated! I'm just gonna put this here pizza in the oven and go to my room." Sam says, every word and motion an exaggeration, "I would also like to remind some people that they have their own rooms too. But I'm an awesome brother, so I'm gonna go now."

Dean and Cas watch Sam leaves with their eyes, though neither backs away from the other an inch. When Sam's door closes, Dean leans in and kisses Cas hard, opening Cas' mouth up with his own and swallowing the moan. Dean wants to push Cas up against the counter, hold his hips and press as close as he can with clothes still on, but he has a stupid sling and cast and he's never hates healing so much. Later, he promises himself. They have time.

"Stay?" Dean asks as he drags his lips away.

Cas makes a small conflicted sound, eyes closed tight, but shakes his head, "you need time with your brother. We should take this slow."

"Meet up tomorrow then?" Dean gets out between chaste kisses.

"God yes," Cas shudders against him, and Dean smiles into their next kiss.

"I'll get a ride to your place." Dean says, Cas nods unthinkingly, neck reaching to catch Dean's lips again. He seems to be quite addicted to kissing. Dean's okay with that. "at noon?"

"Yes, yes." Cas gives up, burying his head into Dean's shoulder, "I should..."

"Yeah." Dean says, but his hand tightens in the fabric of Cas' shirt for a long moment before he releases. Cas slips from his hold and gathers up his things.

"I'll return the clothes once I've washed them."

Dean waves a hand dismissively, "keep 'em. In fact..." he goes into his room and pulls out a sweatshirt, big, worn, and looking oh so warm, Kansas in big letters across the front, "to keep warm." Dean says instead of 'because I like seeing you in my clothes and smelling like me' because that's weird.

Cas smiles largely before giving Dean a quick peck on the cheek and heading to the door. When he's in the hall, he can still hear Dean call his brother from his room and ducks his head from the pleased blush that follows, even if there's no one to see.

Cas takes the bus home, riding in a haze. He gets to his place what seems like only moments after he arrived. For having done almost nothing all day, he's exhausted when he walks in, and fixes himself a small meal before going to sleep.

The next morning, Cas is woken by a knock on his door. It's nine in the morning, and Cas is surprised that Dean could have dragged himself out of bed that quickly. The knock comes again.

"Coming!" Cas calls, all but falling out of bed. He slept in Dean's clothes (they really are comfortable) and wonders how odd it will be if he answers the door in them. The knock sounds again and Cas drops his half formed idea of changing.

He's opening the door without a second thought, smile already tugging at the corners of his mouth. It's not Dean.

"Zachariah."

* * *

hey guys, I hope you had good thanksgivings too!


	20. Message

"Castiel," Zachariah acknowledges with a flourish, smile wide on his face.

"What are you doing here?" Cas asks, suddenly much more aware of his state of dress, and the glaring red mark on his neck.

Zachariah seems to notice it too, but his smile never wavers, though his eyes crinkle in something akin to disdain, "Why to bring you back to work of course. You're two weeks are all up!"

"I quit." Cas' hand tightens on the doorknob.

"I gave you time off to come to your senses."

"I still quit."

Zachariah gives an exaggerated sigh, "aren't you going to let me in, Castiel?"

Cas feels a ping of resistance, the 'no' building in his throat, but this is his cousin, and the least he can do is be civil. Cas moves out of the doorway and Zachariah steps forward into the small townhouse.

"Good to know you haven't lost all your manners," Zachariah chuckles to himself, making his way to the kitchen. Cas has just a moment to be surprised that Zachariah even remembers where it is (he's been here a grand total of one time previous) before he follows after, shutting the door behind his former boss.

"Cooking something?" Zachariah asks as Cas gets through the doorway, gesturing to the ingredients Cas had set on the counter the night before when he'd been making himself a light dinner. Zachariah doesn't wait for an answer; "Well I guess it couldn't hurt, it's a good thing the fire station is close, right?" Zachariah laughs again. Cas knows he's wrong, knows himself to be at least mediocre, if not _good_, at cooking. It doesn't stop the insult from stinging.

"Now, before we get down to business," Zachariah scrunched up his face, "go change out of those clothes, and cover that _ridiculous_ mark."

Cas ducks his head and before he realizes it, he's in his bedroom stripping Dean's clothes off. He stops once he realizes it, hands stilling. He wants to pick up the disregarded top and slip back into it, but that would just be juvenile. He needs to change anyway. Cas sighs and tugs on some slacks and a button up, thinking vaguely that he really needs to invest in some more comfortable clothes, it's not as though he has an office to go to anymore. So he doesn't feel that he's letting himself be entirely walked on, Cas leaves the top few buttons of his shirt undone, 'ridiculous mark' showing vividly.

When Cas goes back into the kitchen, Zachariah is sitting at the table, tapping his fingers against it impatiently.

"Finally!" he says, and though his eyes linger on the mark and his smile twitches, he makes no comment and Cas finds himself inordinately pleased by the fact.

"What do you want, Zachariah?" Cas asks, not making a move to sit down, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You sound like I'm your enemy," Zachariah spreads his arms in a way that Cas assumes he's supposed to take as harmless, "I'm here to help, Castiel, I'm always looking out for you." Zachariah leans across the table, Cas forces his hand to stop twitching.

"I want to help you help yourself."

Cas tenses, "That's a very kind sentiment, Zachariah, and I appreciate it, but I would like to explore other avenues on my own."

"Is this about the money?" Zachariah sighs.

"What, no—"

"Because I think it's high time you got a raise too, you've been such a busy little bee. How's…" he pulls a pen and business card from his pocket, writing a figure on the back with a flourish, "this sound?"

He holds it out expectantly, and Cas feels compelled to take it, if only for politeness' sake. Cas doesn't spare the card a glance, "It's not that, Zachariah, I simply do not wish to work for the hospital anymore."

Zachariah raises one eyebrow, a sardonic tone to the small movement, "Castiel, the Winchester boy doesn't like you, not really."

Cas eyes swerve to meet Zachariah's, shoulders taught. Zachariah, as if sensing a weakness in his pray, stands. He's shorter than Cas, has been since Cas turned 18, but that never stopped the man from being able to lord over Cas.

"And say, for _arguments_ sake, he _does_," Zachariah gives a snort, "how long will he put up with you before he gets tired of you? How long will he be able to stand to be with you when you've caused him so much trouble?"

"I've never—"

"Oh but _Castiel_, you _have_. The poor boy could never pay off the hospital bills he's rucked up, let alone pay for college."

"The crash wasn't his fault!" Cas finds himself all but shouting, hands now fists at his sides, "Insurance will—"

"And there's where you cause all the trouble, Castiel." Zachariah lips pull back in a macabre attempt at a smile, "I can make his life a living hell with insurance and hospital bills, Castiel. How long do you think he'd last, three months? Two? A week?"

"You _can't_—"

Zachariah tuts lightly, "remember our dear sister Anna?"

Cas reels back in shock, a minute tremble finding its way to his hands. It had always felt wrong, her quick departure out of state with not one goodbye. He hadn't heard from her since, three years of silence since his closest sibling left. It was still a sore spot, how Anna could have simply left like smoke, but now…

"What did you _do_ to her?"

Zachariah smiles, "you should really come back to work now, Castiel."

Becky was ecstatic when Cas walked through the door, Zachariah's hand heavy on his shoulder. She was so ready to talk to him about his cute boyfriend, and really, the two weeks alone with Zachariah were two weeks too many, she's glad that Cas' vacations are few and far between.

"Hi Cas!" she greets, loving the way his nick-name rolled off her tongue, it's just so adorable.

"Hello Becky." His voice sounds as rumpled and strained as the rest of him, clothes a mess, hair in tangles, tie and coat hanging loosely off of him.

Now that does not seem like a happy camper.

"Please, Ms. Rosen, his name is _Castiel_. Mr. Novak to you," Zachariah buts in, giving Becky a stern look, "Now, Castiel, your office awaits." He gives the slighter man a long look, "I hope you don't get any ideas, I'm doing you a favor here, giving you a raise, even. Don't disobey me, Castiel."

Cas nods once, stiffly, eyes downcast, as he shuffles to his office, door shutting behind him with a soft click. Becky watches the scene unfold with wide eyes, turning back to Zachariah when the door closes.

"What?" Zachariah barks when he notices her gaze.

"Nothing," Becky says in the dismissive tone she's mastered over the two weeks of Cas' absence that makes Zachariah go an impressive shade of purple, "I think he needs some coffee. That'll perk him right up." She walks to the door, "you want anything?"

Zachariah gives her a long look before shaking his head and going into his office, the shutting door loudly behind him. Becky stands in their little hall of a common area for a few moments, making sure Zachariah really isn't coming out again, before heading to Cas' office, the pretense of coffee gone. Becky doesn't think Cas even _likes_ coffee. Whenever she gets him any, it's left on his desk, not a sip taken from it.

"Cas?" Becky hedges, opening the door slowly, not wanting to spook the man. Cas is at his desk, the dull light of the computer screen making his face look paler than normal. He's not doing anything. Just sitting there, staring blankly at his screen.

Becky lets herself in, "Cas, are you okay?"

Cas' head turns towards Becky and when his eyes meet hers, she feels her chest constrict. He's not crying, there's hardly any moisture collecting in his eyes, but that does nothing to conceal the sadness there. He's heart broken, she's sure, and whoever put that look on his face deserves to be locked up for good.

Becky must let out a sound, because Cas blinks rapidly and comes into focus, "Um, yes Becky, is there anything I can do for you?"

Becky throws herself forward, bringing Cas to her in a tight hug. Cas doesn't respond for a moment, but when Becky just squeezes harder, Cas relents and brings his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder.

* * *

Dean takes the bus to Cas', car still a wreck (he'll get working on her right when this stupid cast comes off), and the ride is a strange paradox of ever second seeming like an hour, but an hour passing like mere minutes. Regardless of Dean's strange internal clock being sent on a time flux from what Dean tells himself isn't teenage excitement, Dean get's to Cas' just before their agreed upon time, and so he waits a few minutes-so he doesn't seem to eager, he still has an image—before knocking on the door.

Dean stands there, waiting, taking in the outside of the building and wishing idly that he could rock back and forth on the soles of his feet without a twinge in his back. It's when he gets to the chorus of 'Back in Black', which Dean'd been humming to himself, that Dean wonders if he got the time wrong. Or if Cas is still asleep, or if he slipped and fell in the shower and broke his hip, or if he burned himself horribly cooking and is writing on the kitchen floor in pain, or-

Dean knocks on the door again.

The knock seems to reverberate through the house. The _empty_ house. Dean scowls to himself, running through their conversation the day before to make sure noon had been the agreed upon time. Positive of it, Dean knocks again, and, when Cas doesn't open the door straight away, Dean sits on the steps, mentally giving Cas fifteen minutes to show up, and mentally demanding a pie for making Dean wait so long.

When fifteen become thirty with no conscious decision and no movement from within the house, Dean's foot is tapping so quickly it's annoying _himself_. Maybe Cas thought tomorrow, so two days from yesterday, and he's out getting all the stuff for the best pie ever. Dean tries to mollify himself with that thought when he finally gets on the bus to head back home at two in the afternoon, but it does less than he'd like.

The ride home passes inversely to the ride there, seconds speed by, but the overall time takes forever. When Dean finally steps into his place, flipping his boots off in the general direction of where he and Sam keep shoes, he's a hell of a lot more tired than he feels he had the right to be after basically sitting on his ass the whole time (it's amazing how people give you their seat when you're in a sling).

"Dean...!" Sam rushes for him from where he'd been pacing between the little kitchen and the tv room, eyes wide and jittery, "I wanted to call you but—"

"Yeah, no phone, I know." Dean runs his hand through his hair, "don't you have class right now?"

Sam shakes his head, advancing on Dean with a kind of tentatively usually reserved for skittish woodland creatures, causing Dean to tense up like one.

"'S canceled, Professor's got the flu." Sam side-eye's him.

"_What_, Sam? What is it?" Dean bites outplaying the part of a cornered creature better than he'd like to admit.

"I'm just—sorry."

"What?" Dean's honestly confused here, unless Sam has some sort of telepathy and knows Cas missed their—he doesn't want to call it a _date_, but well—_date_, he can't think of anything Sam should be feeling sorry about.

"Didn't he...?" Sam backs away hurriedly.

"Didn't he _what_, Sam?" Dean presses his advantage, stalking forward, "listen, Cas missed meeting me, so can we same this cryptic bull for another time?"

Sam takes a quick intake of breath that has Dean feeling more nervous than triumphant, "Dean, he..." Sam trails off, grabbing his cell (and damn, Dean needs to get a new one of his own, but it's not like he really has the money to spare right now) and thrusting it forward into Dean's space. The phone's already tabbed over to voice mail and Dean presses play, bringing it to his ear and trying not to show his hesitancy on his face.

The cheery voice tells him he has one old message, in it's stilted syllables, and then there's dead space. No breathing, no words, just audio snow.

"_...__Dean."_ Cas' voice breaks the silence, sounding small, _"I...I think it best to stop pursuing a relationship together. You are a fine man, but I do not think it..." _the pause aligns itself with Dean's ragged breath, _"wise."_ Dean doesn't hear Cas' shuddered breath over the 'why's reverberating in his head, but the next words cut through the questions resolutely, _"Please do not attempt to contact me." _Another pause in which Dean can feel his heart constrict.

"_I truly do wish you and Sam the best, Dean."_ and that right there's the clincher, because he _does_ sound sincere, Cas has stolen away his best coping method—Cas has made it impossible to truly hate him.

* * *

hey all, hope you had as lovely hanuka/christmas/kwanza/ect. as I did. and within it all I still managed to bang this out, aren't I awesome?


	21. Work

"When...?"

"I only saw it after World Religions let out, at eleven fifty, but it was left at like, quarter to ten." Sam answers, hunching in on himself looking small and pathetic.

"Sam—" Dean swallows, "this isn't your fault."

Sam nods sullenly, "Yeah. I know. It's just, you two looked like you really, really liked each other, and you finally found one another again and—" Sam sighs, "I don't know what went wrong."

"Neither do I." Dean admits quietly, staring down at the phone in his hand as though it just ruined his life (maybe it _did_), but Dean knows that can't be right, he still has Sam, Sam has Jess; Jo and Ellen and Sarah and Ash are all happy and healthy—damn it, Dean's _alive_ which is more than he can say about most car accidents. So really, this is nothing. Dean got over Lisa well enough to keep on going, he can damn well get over Cas. He hadn't even known—_really_ known—the guy for that long anyway, and he'd been prepared to _propose_ to Lisa. So in the grand scale of his life, this should be pretty easy to get over.

Dean feels tears gathering in his eyes and resolutely ignores them. Sam makes a tutting sound that is both despairing and comforting in one as he pulls his big brother into a hug, ignoring the wetness on his shirt.

* * *

Cas worked late that night. Apparently no one had been doing his job in his absence. It makes him bristle, marveling at Zachariah's audacity to assume Castiel's cooperation, but also makes him wonder what exactly it is that Zachariah does for the company.

Getting home was a hassle—the bus came late and Cas could barely keep his eyes open. Becky had brought him some tea in a travel cup right as he was about to leave, and he had been filled with a surge of emotion at her unwavering presence. He apologized for making her stay late, but the woman waved him off with a smile. The tea didn't do much to keep him alert though; he almost missed his stop.

Getting inside and collapsing on his bed, Cas wonders how he is supposed to do this all again. It hadn't been hard, before, perhaps because he had known nothing else, but now…

No use dwelling, Cas reprimands his thoughts. But he can't help but wonder how Dean is fairing before falling into a fitful sleep. Dean is strong, Cas knows, so surely he's all right.

The hospital, for reasons unfathomable to Cas, seems to have not changed a bit. He knows it purely a sentimental view, but after changing so much himself over his two weeks of leave, he somehow expected the hospital to too. The nurses are nicer, or perhaps he is just noticing them more. On his breaks, instead of staying in his office, he roams the halls with Becky to 'stretch his legs' as she says. The nurses seem to come up to him more often now, making cooing sounds he doesn't understand but has been lead to believe he should appreciate.

He sees Makia once, from a distance, and can't help but turn himself and Becky around. He doesn't know if she sees him, but a large part of him hopes not. She's certainly friends with Dean and Sam after that night at the bar, and Cas' shame overwhelms his desire to know how they're doing. Besides, he doesn't think he'd be able to not tell her _why_, and he really doesn't want to see Zachariah try to make things worse.

Uriel, a nurse in the infants and children section of the hospital, admonishes him for looking like a 'wet monkey' and making the children cry (though he does no such thing). Becky jumps to his defense in a show of spunk and watching the two go at it is enough to make Castiel smile, and shock the other two into silence.

"See, now you look like a wet chinchilla, much better than a monkey."

"Uriel!"

Cas chuckles softly, "It's fine Becky, he's right, I certainly have been letting my dower mood get the better of me. Thank you Uriel."

"But-!" Becky attempts to interject

"Good," Uriel cuts her off, "I hope this means you'll _do_ something about whatever's making you so annoyingly pathetic. You're making the other nurses gossip more than do their jobs."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Becky stutters, looking back and forth between the two, apparently at a loss for words. Cas gives her a smile, and with the way her face lights up in response, though still marred with confusion, tells him he really has been taking his troubles out on those around him. He certainly didn't think that he would have this big of an effect on people. It never seemed as though he had before, but now his mood reflected upon more than just himself.

Later that night, Cas was still rolling Uriel's words around in his head. His disposition before the events that had culminated in his short-lived unemployed time had been unremarkable. He had thought himself content, but perhaps had been more acceptance of his lot than anything else. Now, after having been actively happy, Cas is finding it hard to go back to dispassionately accepting. But he has to. He has to for Dean, and Sam.

Uriel's parting words ring agonizingly. They speak not of acceptance or passivity. They speak of action and decisiveness and doing things that might end in mistakes, but they'd be his mistakes. Doing nothing, Cas is starting to realize, lying in bed staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to come, is just as much a decision as doing something, with just as many consequences.

Even if…Even if Dean won't take him back—Cas rolls on his side, burying his head in his pillow—and doesn't want anything to do with him anymore, Cas still has to do something. If there's anything he's learned, it's that he deserves to be happy. He has the right to fight for his happiness. He has _friends_ and they care about him enough to worry when he's sad, to try and cheer him up (be it with company or in unconventional insults). He needs to do this for not only himself, but for those who believe in him.

Perhaps he can go beyond Zachariah, he can talk to Michael, tell him what was going on. Dean had said, once upon a time, that Cas didn't lack initiative. Maybe it was time to see if that was true.

* * *

The last two weeks of agonizing cast life finally bring themselves to an end. Dean kinda thought he'd be happier about it than he currently is—sitting in the back of Jess's small car with Sam and Jess in the front. Two weeks ago he couldn't get the damn thing off fast enough. Then again two weeks ago he'd a reason (a _someone_) to want it off. Now, it means he'll just get to put on more hours at his job at the Roadhouse. He's been pulling back his hours Crowley's coffee shop after having made the executive decision he can't work there anymore. So he's on the lookout for a new, similar job, with the luxury of being able to take his time because of the insurance money.

Dean toyed around with the idea of opening his own shop on the money, but still couldn't bring himself to make that last push, to throw anything resembling financial security out the window and seeing how he'd do as the master of his own fate with his brother still in college.

The hospital's busy when they enter, Sam going to the front desk to sign Dean in while he and Jess take seats. He's halfway through an article speculating if some actress is pregnant or not when his name gets called. Dean hauls himself up and follows the pretty nurse through the maze of hallways to where his cast will be removed.

Dean's not in there waiting for more than five minutes when Makia comes in, face set in a way that makes Dean uncomfortable to know she will be the one wielding the power tool to cut the cast.

"I don't know what you did to Cas, Dean, but it was a dick move."

"What?!" Dean exclaims as Makia powers up the saw, "What _I_ did to _him?_"

"That's exactly what I said." Makia comes closer, grabbing his arm and splaying it flat, "hold still."

"_He_ broke up with _me._"

Makia's eyebrows raise, but to her credit, her eye's don't waiver from where she's cutting through plaster, and she doesn't question him until she's done, "What on earth do you mean?" Makia gives him the stink eye, turning off the saw and carefully removing the plaster from his arm.

"He left a message on my brother's cell, telling me—in no uncertain terms—that we were through."

Makia's brow knits as she throws the bigger chunks of plaster away, "That can't be. He's been walking around miserable since he came back—and _why_ might I ask, did he comes back?"

"Hell if I know," Dean scoffs, but can't help getting the image of an overworked Cas in his head, bags under his eyes, too much stress and too little sleep.

"You should talk to him."

"Excuse me?" Dean whips his head to look at her, "He made it pretty damn clear he wasn't nothing to do with me—and why don't you go talk to him? He's your friend."

"Whenever I get within fifteen feet of the guy he takes off in the opposite direction." Makia admits, slumping in the roll-y chair that if pressed, she would have to admit was at least thirty percent of the reason she wanted to become a doctor in the first place, "But I really think we're missing something. Castiel isn't malicious. And he was happy—for the first time in I don't know how long. He has to have a good reason."

"Yeah? Well he can save it." Dean ignores the catch in his throat.

"Dean…"

"No, no, Makia, I fucking—I—" just as quickly as Dean's flash of anger came, it went, "I can't do it. I know he put up with my shit, but I just can't." Dean gets up and walks out the door, only to come up short at the sight of Cas right there down the hall talking with some nurse that's probably more well-read than Dean and has less emotional baggage and can obviously give Cas everything Dean can't. And Cas is smiling, large and excited with a spark in his eyes, nothing like the image of broken Makia tried to paint for him. It hurts more than Dean's willing to admit.

"'Sides," he mumbles, "looks like he's happy enough."

Makia rushes to the door and follows his eyes, seeing Cas there with a nurse she knows as Uriel and before she can say anything, Dean's darted in the other direction, all but running to the patient waiting area. Her call for him dies on her lips as he rounds the corner out of sight.

Makia really can't believe this—hell, she really doesn't know _what_ to believe. She knows she wasn't making it up—Cas really had been walking around like his world had crumbled in on itself. But Dean truly had seemed hurt, even though he took pains to hide it.

And now… now Makia really needs to have a chat with Castiel.

"Cas!"

* * *

Hi all. So break is never as productive as I want it to be... but here's a short bit to tide you over, and now that I'm back at school I'll have a better chance of actually making myself sit down and write! 


	22. File

Cas whips his head around, eyes gone wide in something that might be considered fear when he sees Makia advancing on him, expression less than pleased. Though the urge to run is still there, Cas tramples down on it. He had taken Uriel's words to heart—he has a plan. And he's not going to let Zachariah make him afraid to speak with the first friend he'd made at this hospital. Makia deserves more than that.

Uriel, to Cas' left, eyes the doctor warily, put off by her demeanor—despite his own tendency to be more than a little intimidating, Cas has learned that the nurse is really more of a softy at heart. He actually thinks Makia and Uriel would like each other a lot.

Cas glances at Makia again. Perhaps now would not be a good time to introduce them. He certainly has some explaining to do.

"Castiel—what on earth is going on?" Makia stops short in front of him, arms crossed over her chest.

"…thank you again Uriel—" Cas mumbles to the nurse, "I'll see you later."

Uriel has another moment of indecision before giving a slight nod and taking the dismissal as it is laid out, leaving Cas to a very annoyed Makia.

"Would you like to talk in my office, Makia?" Cas asks, a tentative smile on his face. He hopes he hasn't lost Makia's friendship in his folly. It all seems so easy now, and he can scarcely remember why everything seemed so inevitable and difficult that morning when Zachariah showed up on his stoop.

Makia huffs, once, before making a vague hand gesture Cas takes to mean he should lead the way. Walking through the halls is somewhat tense, with Makia following close behind; getting to his corner of the hospital is somewhat of a relief. Becky is out at lunch, and Zachariah's door is firmly shut—whither that means he's in or out is up for debate—and so Cas leads then into his office without interruption, shutting the door behind them.

"Okay, Castiel," Makia narrows her eyes, "you better start talking, because I'm seriously confused right now. I know you were miserable, and Dean's—"

"How is he?" Cas can't help interrupting, fingers pulling at the cuff of his sleeve nervously. He wants Dean to be fine, good, happy, but a selfish part of him wants him not to be, wants to know there's still hope for them.

"He's doing worse than you right now, from the looks of it. But who knows how much you really care? Apparently you went and broke his heart." Makia knows it's a low blow, just as she knows Cas really does (did?) care about Dean a lot. But she can't reconcile the sad man who came back to work with the man in front of her who looks like, for all intents and purposes, he's found the key to life.

"I—I didn't mean…" Cas trails off looking bleary eyed for a moment before sinking into one of the two visitor chairs in front of his desk. Makia takes a cue and sits in the chair next to his, turning hers to face his more.

Makia sighs long and loud, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Yes, I know. Castiel—just tell me what's going on."

Cas clears his throat, "Yes, right. You know I quit," Makia makes an assenting noise, "well, after two weeks, Zachariah shows up at my door, demanding I come back. He… he threatened Dean, said he wouldn't put Dean's insurance papers through, would make it really hard for Dean to last, financially speaking. And Dean already works two jobs, and he is helping to pay for Sam's time at college and I just-I couldn't let that happen because they were doing so well—and Dean was thinking of opening his own café, and it's really a dream of his, and that can't happen if he's in debt for the hospital visit too long—"

"Castiel—Cas" Makia cuts in, "slow down—you're saying Zachariah threated Dean by what, withholding insurance?"

"Sort of," Cas says after a deep breath, "he said he would make that harder, yes, but he also brought up my sister, Anna."

Makia's brow furrows, "I didn't know you have a sister."

Cas nods, bringing a foot onto the chair seat and loosely grabbing his knee. Even in the cheap suit, Makia thinks he looks more like a lonely child than anything else.

"Anna was my older sister by four years. We were very close. Whenever I got picked on in school she always defended me, even if it was 'uncool' to have such a crybaby little brother." Cas looks to the side, eyes focusing on nothing, "She didn't want anything to do with the hospital, she was going to be a martial artist, open her own school. She was very good at it… One night when I was eighteen, she was in a car accident in China. She needed immediate care.

"Her passport had been stole, along with all her other identification. When we learned what had happened, we tried to get her to a bigger, better equipped, hospital in Beijing; where she had been was very rural. The paperwork was slow to get through, international insurance, a new passport, money for transport and medical expenses—when it was finally through it had been too long, she died in transport."

I cried, he doesn't add, I cried for weeks, until one morning Zachariah came and laughed at my red eyes and Michael told me to look presentable for the funeral. A casket without a body.

Makia's eyes are soft, her tone calm and sad, "I'm so sorry."

Cas does a one shoulder shrug that looks more unnatural than anything, "I just can't believe that Zachariah would do anything to hurt her. I can't believe he might be the reason I don't have a sister anymore."

Cas clears his throat after the silence lingers a bit too long, "the point is, I wasn't willing to loose anyone else. He scared me with that. I don't know if he really had anything to do with it or not, but just the implication…"

"I understand," Makia scoots her chair farther forward, rubbing her palm against his shoulder, "but why break up with him?"

"Zachariah wanted me to—it was another 'condition' along with coming back. I don't know how, but he had Sam's mobile number and I left a message." Cas pauses for a moment, "I didn't want to hurt him, but I didn't want him hurt more."

"That's good Cas, but the fact is, you _did_ hurt him. Why didn't you go to the police? What Zachariah is doing isn't legal."

"I don't have more than my word. It's only verbal threats, no documentation. And I don't think that could hold him. I don't want to see what he'd do if I reported him and he got away."

"Makes sense, but we have to do _something_."

"I do have a bit of a plan—Uriel made me think of it."

"The nurse you were talking to?"

Castiel nods, "yes. I think I'll go to Michael, tell him. I think he'll believe me."

"I could have my friend Victor look into it, he's on the police force. He could, with Michael's permission, look at Zachariah's portion of the company records and see if there's anything fishy there, it wouldn't cost the hospital anything. If Zachariah is willing to go to this effort to keep you employed, I'm sure he's cutting more corners." Makia suggests, because although she hopes Michael will believe Cas, she also knows that Cas is right, evidence speaks louder than words.

Cas' eyes light up and he starts to unfold from his tight position in the chair, "that would be wonderful—I actually already have Becky putting together some files—especially those about the Nurses' Union negotiations. When I was looking back on it the other day, it looked fishy."

"That's a good a place as any to start!" Makia smiles, "we're going to get you out of here, Cas."

* * *

Becky glances at Zachariah's shut door over her shoulder before shifting through more files. She feels a strange mix of nerves and giddiness—she's not doing anything wrong, but knowing what she and Cas are trying to accomplish… well it makes her think Zachariah will know with one glance at her face. Zachariah's not even _in_ his office and she still looks at the door as if he'll pop out, look at her in that greasy way of his, and just _know_.

Cas hadn't said _exactly_ what they were doing, but that didn't mean she didn't know; woman's intuition and all. She knew they were trying to get Cas his cutie back (she hasn't actually seen him yet, but he must be cute to have Cas so crazy about him). She didn't know how these files were going to help, but she also knew she wasn't to tell Zachariah at all. Cas had been very clear on that point. She wasn't going to mess up, oh no. She was going to help true love prevail.

"What are you doing?"

Becky whipped around with wide eyes, files clutched tightly to her chest, until she made sense of who she was seeing.

"Chuck!" Becky sagged, her grip on the folders loosening, "don't _do _that."

Chuck's fingers fiddled with the handle of the broom in his hands, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Becky let out a long breath, "yeah, yeah," she said, turning back to the cabinet. She thinks she doesn't have all that many more to grab, if any, but the pile in her hands seems smaller than she remembers when she had to haul them from the conference room on the fourth floor. Where is that proposal from the board of directors…?

Chuck leaned forward slightly, attempting to get a look at the labeled flaps of the folders, "What are you doing?" he asks again, not seeming to notice or mind the non-verbal dismissal.

"Nothing, Chuck," Becky resolves to stay strong of her mission of silence, "just grabbing some folders." She shifts them in her arms as if to attest to that fact.

"About the Nurses' strike?"

Becky levels him with a look and Chuck immediately seems to cave in on himself, subtly putting his broom and janitorial supplies between himself and the secretary.

"I just—it's, um," Chuck gulps audibly, but Becky doesn't let up, "Mr. Adler was in here the other day looking through it too!" he squeaks out.

Becky can't stop her eyes from widening, looking at the diminished pile in her hands before again turning to Chuck with an accusatory look. Chuck whimpered.

"What did he do, Chuck?"

"I-I don't know!"

"_Chuck_!"

"He-he—" Chuck squeezes his eyes shut, "he took a file! P-put it in his office!"

"Oh really?" Becky's eyes cut towards the closes door. Chuck nods rapidly.

"Say…" Becky's smile curls dangerously at the edges, "you have keys to his office, right? For cleaning it?"

"O-oh no, no no no!" Chuck shakes his head emphatically, "I can't Becky!"

"Chuck!" Becky's free hand not holding files shoots out and grabs his shoulder, not noticing or not caring when Chuck flinches, "this is a matter of _life_ and _death_! Of _love_!" Chuck makes a sound like a mournful animal's last attempt at life, but Becky continues through it, "You must!"

* * *

Chuck's hand shakes as it tries to get the key into the lock, looking back at Becky as he does.

"This isn't a good idea."

"Just open the damn door."

"He might come back soon…"

"That's why we need to _hurry_."

The turning of the deadbolt sounds a lot like a cell door clanking shut for good, in Chuck's humble opinion. The smile on Becky's face does nothing to assuage these thoughts.

"Great!" Becky pushes past him into the office, hands now free as she put the files in her carry-all, "where'd he put it?"

"I don't know!" Chuck says in a hissing whisper that obviously doesn't hold the heat he wants it to judging by Becky's look, "he doesn't like when I'm around."

"That's because he has something to hide!" she says decisively, going around the back of Zachariah's large oak desk, arbitrarily opening drawers and shuffling around inside them.

"Becky…" Chuck implores but is resolutely ignored. Chuck fidgets near the door, casting glances at the door that leads into the waiting area. Zachariah's sure to be back from his lunch break soon…

"Chuck!" Chuck starts and finds his feet moving him to Becky's side before his rational brain can think better of it.

"Look," Becky points to the bottom drawer, a cat-caught-the-canary grin on her face, "its locked."

"O-oh," Chuck musters a sad look, "that's too bad, we should go. You tried your best."

Becky scoffs, "Really? You're such a wimp! Where's your sense of adventure?"

Three glasses of scotch away, Chuck doesn't say.

Becky gives up on waiting for an answer and rolls her eyes, "Do you have a key for it or what?"

"No!" Chuck answers, "Why would I?"

"Um, because you're the janitor." Becky makes it all sound like an elongated 'Duh'.

"But that doesn't mean I have keys to everything!" Chuck grosses, "this is his personal desk, I doubt I'd have—"

"So you don't know?"

"Bec_ky_!"

"Oh just give me the keys!" Becky grabs hold of the key ring attached to Chuck's belt loop by a stretchy cord and yanks both keys and man down towards her. Chuck kneels next to Becky and wonders, as she tries the key to the men's bathroom on the third floor, where he went wrong.

Fifteen minutes pass in a stream of keys. Chuck's never really noticed how many he has until Becky is painstakingly checking each and every one of them. She's got two left, and is looking at them in a way that reminds Chuck sadly of how he looks at his glass in the bar—as if it'll hold the answers to everything or just leave him with another hangover that sucks the life from everything.

Chuck's not really sure what they're doing (the '_life_ and _death_ and _eternal love_!' spiel wasn't very coherent), but he kind of hopes that one of the keys work. The first key, Becky gingerly puts in the lock; it fits in the slot but Chuck can just tell the pins don't match up with the way Becky's tentative smile drops like a lead weight. Chuck wants to say something comforting, but can't think of the right words.

Becky shakes her head to steel herself and takes the last key in hand. It doesn't even fit in the slot. Chuck knew it wouldn't from the shape, but he wasn't going to be the one to tell her that.

Becky's face crumples, and Chuck swears there might be actual tears gathering in her eyes. He kind of panics.

"I-it's okay! We can try again! Maybe it's just a tough lock!" Chuck babbles, taking the key ring from Becky's listless fingers, combing through them frantically. For a small desk lock, it's got to be a round head; no more than an inch long…Chuck finds three possible matches and starts shoving them in the lock. The first one doesn't work at all, not that he really expects _any_ of them to, but the second one—Chuck can almost feel some of the pins slide home. At least one of them isn't lined up, but maybe if he…

The click has them both turning to face each other with shock written on their faces. Now that the lock isn't keeping the drawer closed, it falls open under its own weight and both sets of eyes turn to watch, neither moving.

Becky lets out a sound that could be a screech before hugging Chuck enthusiastically. Chuck blinks and accepts his fate, giving Becky a tentative pat on the back in return. A three count later and Becky pulls herself away, rummaging through the files, hands almost jittery with excitement.

"There's a ton of stuff in here," Becky glances around the room, eyes gluing on the four-in-one office device in the corner, "I've gotta copy it—Chuck, help me" She doesn't give him time to reply, just put files in his hands before walking over to the scanner and turning it on.

Becky decides on faxing the sheets so she wouldn't have then in her possession if Zachariah gets wise of the as yet not very well known plan. She can be sneaky too.

Becky glances at Chuck who's still there on his knees with files in his hands, "_Chuck_!" she admonishes, motioning with her head to bring him near.

Chuck tries to stumble to his feet. When the stretchy cord attached to the keys expands too long, he almost falls at the hindrance before finagling it so he removes the key ring entirely. He brings the files over and the two start faxing, thanking god for fast machines and long lunch breaks. With the power of technology, the two get through all the files relatively quickly and are able to put them back to a close enough approximation of where they found them.

Becky slides the drawer home and Chuck relocks it, going to pull the key out. Becky looks at the clock and curses under her breath, they're lucky they haven't been found by now. Zachariah should be back at any moment. Chuck whimpers and Becky's eyes swivel back to him.

"It's—stuck."

"Just yank it out!"

"I'm trying!" Chuck gives the lock a few tugs.

"Oh for the love of—"

That's when they both hear it; the outside door clicks open.

They both hold their breathe, eyes not leaving the front door even as Becky's hands join Chucks in trying to pull out the key. The door doesn't open beyond a sliver—whoever's hand is on the knob, they're talking with someone in the hall.

Becky swats Chuck's hands away, sitting on the ground and putting a foot against the drawer to brace herself before pulling hard. The key flings out and sends Becky toppling back with a thud that sounds too loud in the small office. The talking in the hall stops. Becky and Chuck freeze, Becky on the floor with the (bent) key in her hand and Chuck in the beginning stages of trying to help her up.

Talking resumes and the two doesn't even breathe out their relief; just hurriedly right themselves and dash out of the office, Becky yanking the door shit behind them as Chuck hurriedly tries to get his key ring back on. Becky all but flings herself at the filing cabinet, trying to look busy, while Chuck stands near his broom and bucket as though the very act of being near the implements of his trade will make him innocent.

Finally, the door swings fully open as the two attempt to look busy in their own ways, and Castiel comes in, blinking at them both.

"Hello Becky, Mr. Shirley."

Becky and Chuck share a look before Becky heaves a tremendous sigh and plops herself on the small, uncomfortable couch in their little common area. Chuck seems to have taken to having his broom act as his spine.

"Shouldn't you two be working?" a voice sounds from behind Castiel; Zachariah's voice. Chuck's spine gets stiff as a board and Becky jumps up from the couch, running over to her desk.

* * *

Makia gets back to Castiel later that day, telling him her friend Victor is more than willing to give anything they find a look over. Now it's all a matter of talking to Michael, surely he won't have a problem with the files being looked over, right? If he's wrong, he's wrong, but if he's right, well, who knows? He might end up saving the hospital a lot of money. Maybe even—Cas doesn't want to be melodramatic, but, maybe even some lives.

So why does he feel like a small child waiting outside the principal's office?

Regardless of the reason, he does, sitting in the overstuffed chairs outside of Michael's office, waiting for him to finish his phone call with someone obviously important. Michael's secretary, a sweet girl named Rachael, keeps giving him little smiles that seem to hold more pity than anything else. They don't make him feel better. When he'd come in she'd told him Michael was on the phone and directed him towards the chairs, since then Cas had been feeling tense and useless, fiddling with his shirt sleeve because he has nothing better to do.

The muffled talking comes to an end from behind the door, and Cas feels his heart jump into his chest as he tries not to rise to attention. Rachael gives him another little smile before hitting the buzzer, and telling Michael that Castiel is here to see him now.

"_Send him in_."

Cas' on his feet and in front of the door before he knows what's happening, but the door seems impenetrable, too heavy to push. Cas glances behind himself and Rachael is looking in a way he assumes to be encouraging. Cas takes a deep breath. He can't remember really, the last time he talked to Michael. With the way he's seen Dean and Sam interacting, he has a half formed wisp of a thought wishing that they'd been closer. Now, as Cas walks into the office, he's not seeing his brother, he's seeing his boss.

"Michael." Cas addresses with a slight nod as he swings the door open.

"Castiel," Michael returns the greeting, eyes glancing up for only a moment from the paper he's reading in front of him, "What brings you here?"

Cas feels himself fidget and is glad Michael's not looking. He quickly takes a seat, hoping that getting the weight off his legs will stop them feeling like jello. It doesn't.

"I'd like to have permission to give some of our paperwork to the police."

_That_ catches Michael's attention.

"And why is that?" Michael doesn't look away from Cas as he signs the form in front of him, long loopy strokes gliding across the dotted line.

"I believe that Zachariah is abusing the company's trust in him."

"Oh?" A clear indicator for more information. Cas wills his leg to stop jittering.

"He threatened a… a friend of mine, indirectly, so I rescind my resignation."

Michael takes his admittance to quitting without a blink. It's unnerving.

"He also implied that he had something to do with Anna's death." If Cas was waiting for Michael to jump up in arms about it, he would have been sorely disappointed. As it were, the slow blink Michael gave and the tightening of his jaw was the best indicator of his shock.

Cas nods, a bob of the head as his eyes roam everywhere but Michael's face, his gaze too heavy to bare, "All I have is my word, no evidence, I was too… emotional to document it properly." Cas tries not to wince, emotional was always something Michael disapproved of.

"But I believe if he's willing to go to such lengths, that means he's done other un-reputable things and…" Cas cuts himself off, "is that you're signatures?"

Cas points at the dotted line, unable to bring himself not to, even though he knows how much Michael truly detests the whole idea of pointing—as if words were unsufficiant.

Michael looks down at the paper, annoyed, "Yes, Castiel."

Cas' eyes, don't move from the long slope of the 'M', the elegant curve of the 'l', "That's not what I've been seeing."

* * *

Here ya go all, hope you're still enjoying it! a shout out to spnbluecats-I do hope you feel better soon, love!

reviews always welcome and appreciated :)


	23. Signature

"Excuse me?" Michael asks, one eyebrow lifting elegantly.

Cas can't bring his eyes away from it, "The signature on the typed up requests from the board of directors, to validate it" he supplies unnecessarily, "this isn't it."

"That's a heavy accusation, Castiel."

Cas swallows, but he knows he's right, "It's the truth. Let me send some paperwork to the police, they may be able to find proof—money missing, accounts that don't line up…"

Michael shifts in his chair and Cas knows he will relent. Michael has never been the kindest man, but he is honest and has no time for those who do not meet him on the same level.

"Very well, Castiel, since you seem so sure. But do not come back to me with anything less than verifiable proof. If you come with false accusations and expect me to take action on conjuncture, I will be forced to terminate your employment here."

Cas startles himself with the laugh that attempts to break forth. Michael, threatening to fire him. Not as much incentive as Michael seemed to think it is, considering. Cas fights to keep his face straight and nods, hoping to his feet and leaving shutting the door behind him.

When the door closes, Michael hits a button on his phone. It rings once before being picked up.

"_Sir?_"

"Joshua, I'd like you to keep an eye on Zachariah for me." Michael leans back in his chair, "It's come to my attention that he might not be living up to the hospital's standards."

"_Yes Sir,_" Joshua answers. The line clicks off.

* * *

Cas runs into Makia in the hall on his way back from Michael's office, he feels jittery, full of excess energy with no release, and so seeing his friend is a relief, a way to share his new information and hypothesizes in a productive manner.

"I did it, I spoke with him, we can—we can do it." Cas gets out in a rush, not sure what to do with his hands. Makia gives him a once over, and must be happy with what she sees, because she brings him into a hug, hard a loving.

"Good job, Cas, I'm really proud of you," and with those words the extra energy dissipates, leaving Cas mellowed and, strangely enough, tired.

"Thank you," he hugs her back, his thanks heartfelt and encompassing much more than just now. Makia seems to get it, giving him one more tight squeeze before releasing him.

"Come on, I'll walk you to your office."

Cas nods and they go on their way, Makia telling him about the surgery she has in a half an hour and Cas filling her in on his conversation with Michael.

"That's great Cas," Makia says once he's told her, "we should celebrate." Her smile is sly and makes Cas uncomfortable.

"What?"

"We should go out. To a bar." Her tone implied that it was more than just any bar she was thinking of going to.

Cas caught on, "I don't know, Makia. I want to see him," the longing in his voice made it more than apparent, "but after what I did? I doubt he wants to see me."

"Well you're just going to have to see, Cas." Makia waves to an intern they pass, "that's what love is, it's putting your heart on the line and hoping the other person doesn't crush it."

"Is that why you've been avoiding Uriel? You're afraid of getting your 'heart crushed'?"

"What?!" Makia stops dead outside of Cas' office door, heat rushing to her face, "that's ridiculous!"

Cas meats her wide-eyed gaze with his level one, hand twisting the knob and pushing the door slightly open, "Makia, you need to put your heart out there. He likes you too."

"Really?" Makia, seeming to realize she'd given herself away, sighs dejectedly, "you can't turn my own advice against me, that's just mean."

Cas can't hold back a little smile as he tries to pull off a nonchalant shrug.

"Fine, Mr. Sassy-pants," Makia clears her throat, "I'll invite Uriel along as my date, and we'll go to the Roadhouse, tonight."

Cas swallows the lump in his throat, but nods, swinging the door open fully and walking in to the room, blinking at what he sees, Chuck with an intent hold on his broom, and Becky rummaging through the file cabinate.

"Hello Becky, Mr. Shurley."

Becky and Chuck share a look before Chuck deflates and Becky flops on the couch. The scene, although amusing in its way is lost on Cas, as he has no idea why he'd caused such a commotion.

"Shouldn't you two be working?" Zachariah's voice sounds from behind Cas and he fights not to tense up at it, his distaste for the man having grown more than he'd thought possible in the short span of time.

Cas leaves Becky and Chuck to their scrambling and goes into his office, shutting the door firmly behind him. Unfortunately, his door opens not a moment later, Zachariah letting himself in without a shred of hesitation.

"Castiel," he smiles, coming into the office, flicking the fake plant, shuffling through papers on Cas' desk (he may not be happy to be back, but he's still going to do his job), "How have you been doing?"

Cas is brought to a standstill by the feeling of being found out, even though he knows, he _knows_ that there's no way Zachariah could have, not yet.

Cas forces his throat to open, to make sound, "Fine."

"You seem busy as a bee, Castiel," Zachariah reads a proposal a bit to intently, and Cas goes through a mental check that he hasn't left anything incriminating on his desk, even though he's well aware that he hasn't. Zachariah has always had this canny ability to make Cas doubt himself.

"Making new friends too," Zachariah side-eyes him and Cas knows he hasn't been successful in hiding his stiff shoulders.

"Would you like me to cut those off too, Zachariah?" Cas says, keeping his tone level, though his words are anything but.

Zachariah laughs a long, patronizing sound, "Nonsense! I'm happy for you Castiel, you deserve friends. I worry, is all. Worry that you might be taken advantage of." Zachariah sighs, "But everyone needs to leave the nest at some point. Just know I'm always here for you, Castiel, I've always looked out for you. Always."

And with that reverberating in the air, Zachariah leaves his intention unclear. If he was attempting to get under Cas' skin, to leave him feeling defiled and exposed, it had certainly worked, but Cas tried to banish the feeling, keep on alert, it couldn't be that easy. Zachariah didn't just come for a 'check-in', there must be another reason…

Hours later, Cas has gotten less work done than he'd like. Cas wishes there were another reason besides being on edge from Zachariah's impromptu visit, but there isn't. A know on the door brings his attention back into the word and Cas breathes a sigh, disentangling himself from his mind.

"Come in."

Becky's head pops through the doorway, the woman's body close to follow as she opens the door as little as possible. She has a file pressed close to her chest and quickly shuts the door behind herself, face flush.

"Becky, are you okay?"

Becky shushes him, leaving Cas bewildered before heading over to where he sits, "Zachariah went to get coffee—here's the file that's really gonna get 'em."

Cas, eyes wide, looks down at the non-descript file in her hands out for him to take.

"Really?"

Becky nods, speaking as Cas starts to look through the file, "Yup, although it's not the original file, me and Chuck photocopied it."

"Chuck…?" Cas mumbles before he remembers Mr. Sherley's first name. Becky doesn't seem to hear him as she continues.

"It was in a locked door in his desk! There were so many keys and we had to break into it I gave a rousing, Oscar worthy speech if I do say so myself, and I photo copied the pages and Chuck was no help and then the key was stuck and the door was moving!" Becky highlights her story with large arm movements. Cas doesn't understand half of what she's talking about, but he gets enough.

And then he sees it, right here, the proposal he had gotten right before meeting with the heads of the nurses union and under it is the letter from the board with different demands and what Cas now knows to be Michael's long signature.

Castiel quickly does the math in his head, he was able to stay within what he now knows was a fake budget, but if the board's response had that much more money they were willing to give to the union to raise wages, which means that…

"There is almost ten thousand dollars unaccounted for here."

Becky nods, mouth closed in a grievous line.

Cas looks up from the paper to her, "I helped him steal ten thousand dollars from our nurses."

"No!" Becky's quick to answer, "No, you didn't know! There was no way you could have known!"

"Who knows how many other times he's done this?" Cas continues, ignoring or unhearing of Becky's rational, "how much I've let him take?" Cas puts the file down on the table so he doesn't drop it. His hands are shaking, minutely thought they are. He feels sick. He feels as though somehow he is the one to blame for Anna. He knows, _knows,_ that he had nothing to do with that. Knows that this is different. But how many lives have been lost because money hasn't been going to the right places? Cas hates that money means so much, but it _does_ in this world, especially when every medical test and every machine has its own price tag.

"Cas!" Becky somehow got around his desk, because she's looking at him straight in the eyes, hands on either side of his face, her own expression defiant, "Cas, you did not do this. You did not want any of this to happen! The only one to blame is Zachariah because he is the one who's been doing this."

Cas takes a deep breath, then another, getting himself under control. He nods once, and Becky smiles, releasing his face.

"Good, now let's get this bozo in the big house!"

Cas nods, smiles slightly and picks up his phone.

* * *

Makia stops into Cas' office after her shift ends, wrung out from a long day but still finding it within herself to be excited for tonight. Asking Uriel has been…an experience to say the least. Uriel isn't the most approachable fellow Makia had ever found herself attracted to, but his manner still held appeal. Especially the contradiction in it. Hospitals had a tendency (especially on weekends and holidays) to be a bit _rowdy_. Uriel was the go-to nurse to deal with unruly drunks and hysterical patients, and yet he turned around and comforted a hurt or scared child confronted with the white walls of the hospital and all the adults towering above them. He was sweet, he was steadfast, he had a dry humor to rival Cas', and most of all, he'd said yes. Makia had never seen him out of his scrubs before. She was dying to get the chance.

Cas, when she pushes open the door after a cursory knock, is looking at the door with wide, scared eyes, stooped over his desk and the paper's on it. When his mind catches up with his eyes, Cas relaxes, but, Makia notices, doesn't disengage from his protective crouch until Makia has shut and, after a moments hesitation, locked the door behind herself.

"I forgot to lock it…" Cas mumbles, almost to himself.

"Cas," Makia speaks lightly, as if to not spook her friend, "Cas, Honey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Cas shakes his head, but held up a file for her to look at, "we have it, we have what we need to get him." As if reading the silent question on her face, Cas continues as Makia looked back and forth from the file now in her hands to Cas' face, "it was me. I'm the reason he was able to get away with it for so long. He was using me to _hurt _people."

"Cas…" Makia sighs, before gasping at what she saw before her, two different proposals for how to approach the nurses union, two different signatures.

"Yes." Is all Cas says in confirmation.

"Did you—"

"I sent a copy over to Mr. Henricksen and one up to Michael," Cas nods before rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hands, looking worn and frayed at the edges.

"Okay," Makia shuffled through the file again, willing herself to know how long the subterfuge has been going on, "good."

Cas sighs, "Never mind this, there's nothing more to be done tonight," Cas stands up, "are we going?"

"We don't have it," Makia is quick to say, "really, it's been a long day, maybe we should just have some tea, watch a movie."

Cas gives a wiry smile, "Uriel said yes, didn't he?"

Makia can't help the heat that runs to her face, "yes, but he'll understand. There are things more important than a date, Cas, you're my friend."

Cas's smile goes soft, "And that's exactly why we should go," He puts a hand on her shoulder, "you've been such a good friend to me, it's time I return the favor."

"Cas…"

"Come on Makia, it'll be fun." Cas' smile looks genuine, if not overly enthusiastic. He takes the file from her and puts in in a locked desk drawer and the two head out for the night.

* * *

"Is Dean here?" Dean's mind shoots back into focus, he's been zoning out checking stock in the back but now, now he's very much aware of what's going on. He didn't really think he was waiting to hear that voice again, but the stuttering of his heart in his chest says different.

Dean sticks his head out of the back room, and there's Cas at the bar facing away from Dean's current perch, hair ruffled just so. Cas' asking Sam, who Dean catches eyes with and shakes his head no, a hard line to his mouth. He doesn't want to talk to Cas, doesn't want to hear what Cas has to say because God knows, he might just take him back. Dean doesn't want to get hurt like that again, to think that someone's changing themselves for the better, for _you_, and then having it be some kind of sick joke.

Sam pauses, mouth open, but gives a stuttering 'no'.

Dean tries not to notice how Cas' shoulders fall under his trench coat. Another signifier that he hasn't left his job like he said he did—he's in that ill-fitted suit and trench coat get up. Dean doesn't know what Cas thought he's accomplish here, cornering Dean at his job, but Dean'll be damned if he lets him. The rally of his convictions doesn't stop the sinking feeling in his chest.

"O-oh," Cas glances around, and Dean can just imagine his eyes big and lost—it pulls at something, right in his chest—"would you tell him I was by? Um, here's—here's my number if he wants to call."

Sam takes the proffered slip of paper, nodding, eyes bright and imploring when they glance in Dean's direction. Cas straightens himself, reset the sharp line of his shoulders, and is about to turn away when Sam puts a hand on his arm.

"Cas, why?"

Dean can't even imagine the look on Cas' face—is he sad? Angry? Indifferent? Melancholy? Confused? Dean wishes he were closer, that he could see more than the back of Cas' head.

Cas draws in on himself, "I—" there's a hitch of breath—

"Castiel," Dean's eyes whip to the new sound and there's that guy from before—Mister well-read and well-off that Dean saw at the hospital making Cas forget all about Dean.

"Uriel," Cas turns to the guy before he turns back to Sam, clearing his throat, "Sam, this is Uriel, Uriel, this is Sam; Dean's brother."

Uriel makes a dismissive noise in the back of his throat and Dean's hackles are raised, why the hell would Cas go for a guy with a serious attitude problem like that? Dean takes a moment to really ignore the implications of his statement.

"Castiel, you should come back to the table now, Makia is getting emotional." Uriel says, ignoring Sam's polite 'hi'. Dean looks around the room and there's Makia at a table in the back, looking stunning but nervous as she glances at the bar again and again.

"Yes," Cas clears his throat again, "I'm sorry, I'm ruining your date, aren't I?"

Uriel says nothing, and Cas gives a small laugh and nods.

"Please tell Dean," Cas implores before turning, "I just need him to know what happened, even if he doesn't—" Cas cuts himself off, "tell him?"

"Yeah, Cas, I will." Sam promises. Cas nods and heads over to where Makia waits.

The blood rushes in Dean's ears. So that guy's not with Cas, he's not with Cas at all; Cas isn't with _anyone_ (guys with someone don't hop on as third wheels to a date) and he's trying to talk with Dean. Dean still has a chance—Dean clamps down on the thought ruthlessly. There is no chance, because Dean doesn't want it. Dean doesn't want to be dragged back into something with Cas only to get another voicemail on his brother's goddamn cell saying '_adios_'. It hurts now, right now, but Dean keeps in mind that this, what he's feeling, hurts a lot less than if he gave in and let himself be toyed with again.

It strikes a dissonant cord in him, thinking of Cas as a manipulative dick—it hadn't seemed fakes when they'd kissed in the coffee shop, hadn't seemed fake that weekend they'd stayed together, but then Cas pulled his stunt and Dean was left with the rest. It didn't match up to the flesh and blood man, but, Dean reminds himself, everyone has their secrets, Cas' just happened to be sadistic, apparently.

"Dean, what are you gonna do?" Sam comes into the back room, a nicely folded piece of paper in his hand.

"Whaddya mean, Sammy?" Dean turns away, goes back to cataloging how much brandy they have, it was a popular drink all month, "I'm not gonna do anything."

"Dean…" Sam says in that tone that Dean knows too well. It's accompanied by a face that Dean could draw in his sleep. It's that same face that got Sam spoiled rotten as a kid because Dean could never say no.

"Sam, no," Dean tries to cut it off before it starts, keeping his back turned.

"Dean," Sam is not one to be deterred—usually a trait that Dean loves in his brother, now though... "He really seems like he just wants to talk. He doesn't look so good, he looks...well, like you."

Dean puts back a bottle of jack a bit harder than necessary. When he turns, Sam's giving him that look that speaks of compassion and understanding and all that stuff that goes along with his long girly hair. Dean knows he's been kind of out of it, but he certainly doesn't look as bad as Sam's trying to make it out to be.

"No, Sam," Dean crosses his arms over his chest, "Cas called it off pretty damn well, if you remember."

"It could just be a misu—"

"A misunderstanding? _Really?_ What's there to misunderstand about 'hey get the hell out of my life', Sam? Seemed pretty damn clear to me."

Sam gives a frustrated huff, looking to the side as if to collect himself, "Dean, there's more going on here, I swear it. At least give him a chance." Sam swivels those big hazel-brown eyes on him and Dean tries to strengthen his resolve, "He gave you one."

Sam holds out the folded paper, giving it a little shake when Dean doesn't immediately take it. Dean sighs, but takes the paper.

"Think about it?" Sam asks, imploring.

Dean scoffs, but Sam doesn't give any ground, "Yeah, sure." he holds up the paper in his hand for emphasis before putting it in his pocket.

Sam, satisfied, nods once and goes back out front, leaving Dean in the storage room. Once he's gone, Dean legs out a long sigh, staring at the shelves in front of himself unseeingly. What the hell is he going to do?

* * *

after a very, ahem, _encouraging_ review, I was reminded of my obligation to update. and so here you go! Reviews are always welcome and help to motivate as I'm sure my fellow writers can agree :)


	24. Call

Cas hated to do it, but he bowed out of their time at the bar early; Makia and Uriel were probably having a much better time without him lurking with a frown on his face. Cas sinks further onto the couch, letting the jazz coming from his turntable work its magic. He didn't really know what he'd been expecting, for Dean to be there? For him to accept Cas back with open arms? Cas attempts to dispel his thoughts, it does no good to preoccupy the mind with things that cannot be changed.

Instead of dwelling, Cas gets a small notepad and pencil from his coffee table drawer. He's going to make a list. A list of things to do once he's free, once Zachariah is gone and Cas has made up for his mistakes.

The first line is easy to write down, Cas enjoys putting a bit of a flourish on the end: _Quit_

The second is harder; he had this problem before, trying to come up with what he wants to do with his life. He know he doesn't want to do another job like he's had, with the paperwork and demanding boss, but he doesn't know what else he'd be any good at.

_Open a shop _is on the paper before Cas has really thought of it. Dean had said he'd be good at it, that he's a good cook. Cas takes a moment to wash Dean from his thoughts—is this something _he_ wants to do? Not just something Cas wants to do because of Dean?

The line stays on the page, but Cas adds a question mark, just in case.

_Move_ Cas writes, and doesn't realize how much he wants that until it's there in front of him. He doesn't dislike his house, per say, but he doesn't care for it either. He'd much rather find someplace else, someplace that is his entirely. Perhaps an apartment over a shop, his shop, his mind whispers.

_Get a car?_ Cas writes before crossing it out. He rather likes not having a car. It's less convenient, sure, and public transport isn't always the best, but it's nice to have an excuse to walk, to be late to things, to enjoy himself. Besides, cars can kill you.

_Keep my friends_ he thinks fondly of Makia and Uriel, Becky and perhaps even Sam. Cas doesn't think of Dean, because if Dean ever comes back into his life, Cas doesn't think he could just be friends. He'd try, certainly, but he knows he wouldn't last.

_Enjoy life_ looks corny on the page, but it rings true regardless. Cas has spent so much of his life not really enjoying it, never knowing what he'd been missing until finally he knew. He doesn't ever want to go back to doing things just because it's what he's always done.

_Don't worry about other's expectations_ Cas writes, knowing it will take more than the marks on the sheet to change his outlook on this particular subject, but a reminder can't hurt.

_Don't be afraid of change_ Cas puts his pencil down and smiles.

Dean isn't pacing. Sam has told him he's pacing about five different times, but Dean holds to the fact that he is not pacing. The paper in his pocket feels like it weighs a ton and is burning hot. He's so _aware_ of it. He'd think, after a week, the paper would lose its significance. That he'd stop caring just as he professes he has every time Sam asked. Yet ever since Sam gave it to him that night last week, ever since he saw Cas walk out of the bar alone with a frown and distracted eyes he can't.

Sam's about ready to kill him, Dean knows, says he's been intolerable and being pigheaded and a jerk and a whole list of not flattering things. Sam also said he's come to terms with Dean wanting to make his life miserable but that he's not allowed to drag Sam down too. When Sam shoots him another of those glares, Dean makes the executive decision to take his not-pacing somewhere else. Maybe it's about time to start rebuilding the Impala. He's finally got the strength back, and his baby always has a way of clearing his mind.

Sam grunts from behind his book when Dean says he's going out, making a hand motion to the door, little brother speak for 'get the hell out please, you're annoying as fuck'. Dean would make a comment back if he wasn't so jittery. He grabs his jacket, tucks his new phone in the pocket (because Sam will throw an even bigger bitch fit if he can't get ahold of Dean—ever since the accident, Sam's been a bit needy) and goes to the bus stop.

The closest bus to the salvage yard is still a good fifteen minute walk from the place and Dean tries his hardest to keep those fifteen minutes as blank minded as possible. It doesn't really work.

"Dean." Bobby calls when he sees him, giving a nod.

"Bobby," Dean answers, "Where's my baby?"

Bobby cocks his head towards where a tarp is covering a decidedly non-car shaped lump.

"Bobby," Dean all but whimpers, taking a cautious step forward, looking back at the man imploringly and hoping this is some kind of sick joke.

"Like a band-aid, Son," Bobby stays resolute.

Dean grabs the edge of the tarp and pulls it off quick. It doesn't make it less painful, seeing his baby a twisted mangle. From the look of her, it's lucky that Dean's alive. And Dean knows that, hell, he's been feeling the pain from this for a while, but man, looking at the Impala, it really hits home. He'd almost died.

Well, Dean thinks as a nervous laugh develops in his throat, this is one way to stop thinking about Cas.

Dean doesn't move from the side of his car until much later. Bobby nudges Dean with his foot and Dean's being passes a nice cold beer. It hadn't seemed that hot until he feels the cooled glass against his heated skin. Dean takes a long pull from it, sighing once he's done.

He's been pulling apart his car for the last however-long he's been here. The frame is so mangled that there's nothing he can do but take apart and salvage before he starts going around for parts. Most of the engine's good, god knows how, and that panel in the back where Dean and Sam carved their names has a few new scratches, but it's still whole, so Dean's not counting it as a total loss.

"How's it coming?" Bobby asks a bit absently as they both stare at the remnants of a beautiful car.

Dean snorts, "nothin' a coat of paint won't fix."

Bobby rolls his eyes, but can't seem to help the upturn at the corner of his mouth, "Yeah, yeah, Smartass. Sam called."

Dean's free hand goes for his new phone—there are three missed messages—he winces.

"Told him you were fine and to quit his bellyaching."

"Thanks Bobby."

"The boy's worried about you, can't say I blame him," Bobby gives him that patented parent look he'd perfected moments after Dean had arrived in town with Sam. Dean sometimes wonders what it would have been like, with Bobby as a parent and not just a distant memory of a mother and a broken dad. He doesn't wonder for long.

"Yeah, sorry, I didn't hear it go off."

Bobby nods and they stand in companionable silence for a time, staring at the wreckage and the sun setting beyond all the heaps of metal. Damn, Dean really did lose himself in his car—he'd left around noon.

"So. You're staying for dinner."

"Wha… Bobby, it's fine, I think I'm done for today,"

Bobby nods, "I think so too. Doesn't change the fact that you're stayin'. Sam and Jess are comin' over for some food; they'll drive you. I'm cooking"

Dean can't contain a snort, looks like Sam isn't the only one worried. It has to be bad, but Dean can't help the warm swell he gets from it, from the people he cares about being concerned over him.

"Oh, and Dean" Bobby calls, halfway through the door to his house, "either do something with that thing in your pocket or throw it out. You've been pattin' at it this whole time."

Dean looks down, and his beer-less hand is there, fingering the scrap of paper in his pocket. His face goes red, but when he turns to make excuses, to explain, Bobby's already gone into the house, door shut behind him.

Cas' day was hectic, hell his whole week has been hectic, but today especially. When he gets off the bus that evening, he's seriously considering writing 'get a car' on his list, as today was not the day where public transit showed its bright side.

He had had two different calls from Victor—Detective Hendrickson—updating him on what he'd found; the case he's putting together against Zachariah. Makia called to make sure he'd heard from Victor and then when she learned he had, demanded to be told exactly what their status was. Becky came in and dragged him out for lunch, god bless her, where he had an enjoyable time learning more about her and Chuck, whom tagged along.

Then it was back to the grinding block; he had to keep up with the responsibilities of his job while keeping his extracurricular efforts from Zachariah. The man himself had popped in no less than five times that afternoon, for nothing more than (that Cas could figure) making sure Cas was properly intimidated. Michael called once. Cas was glad to know his brother well enough to not expect encouragement of any kind. Michael was blunt, slightly threatening, but with an undercurrent that made Cas think that Michael was truly starting to believe him, starting to see, even though Cas knew Michael hasn't seen the most incriminating file yet.

Being able to throw his suitcase and coat down upon getting home was a god sent. Falling onto his bed and hoping to never have to get up again was a short lived dream. His phone rings—a loud, shrill thing that drags him from the cusp of sleep. He wonders, vaguely, if he should just let it ring. Makia is really the only one who calls him on it, and he knows he doesn't want to go out tonight, just want to sleep until the rawness of the day has worked itself way. He's up though, going to where his phone is still tucked into the pocket of his trench coat.

The number flashing on his screen is unknown. Cas looks at it for a moment, at a complete loss, before comprehension dawns. Cas blinks at it again and takes a moment to grab at the hope that's bubbling up obnoxiously in his chest—maybe it's a telemarketer. Maybe it _is _Dean, but Dean's only calling to tell Cas to stop with his rather pathetic efforts.

The phone rings again, and Cas hastily takes the call, it would do no good to put this off, for good or ill.

Cas clears his throat before he can get the word out; "Hello?"

_"Cas?"_ Dean's voice comes across the line and Cas sinks to sit right there, right in the foyer next to his discarded coat and briefcase.

Cas nods, vocalizing his 'yes' as an afterthought, "Dean."

_"Yeah, hi,"_ Dean clears his throat, _"listen, I, um…"_ Dean trails off for a moment and Cas waits with as much patience as he can muster for him to continue, _"Why?"_

Cas opens his mouth to speak, but right as he's finding his voice, Dean continues, taking his silence as incomprehension.

_"I mean—you weren't exactly subtle with the phone message, so why all this? I thought we'd—I mean, dick move with the phone call, not telling it to my face, but what the hell do you get out of this? I mean, I'm not gonna be your friend or anything, but I won't trash talk you or shit like that if that's what you're worried about."_

A long sigh comes across the line and Cas feels his heart drop to his stomach like lead. He never wanted this to happen, never wanted to hurt Dean, but the fact remains that he did.

"I'm sorry," Cas' voice sounds rough, fighting to come out of his throat, "I never wanted to—" Cas cuts himself off with a shuddering exhale.

"That day you were supposed to come over, Zachariah, my boss, he-he wanted me to come back to work at the hospital."

_"And you did. I'm sure he was very happy_." There's bitterness in Dean's tone, and Cas can't begrudge him that, even though it hurts.

"He threatened you, Dean, he threatened you."

Dean stays silent and Cas can feel the babble of words in his throat, fighting to come out. He really doesn't want to do this on the phone, but...

"He made allusions to my sister, Anna—she, she died overseas because of paperwork mix-ups that delayed her treatment. She died and Zachariah made it seem as though he had a part in that, and then he said he'd stop the insurance from going through for your car accident, and I knew you couldn't take the financial burden with Sam in college and you're already working two jobs and—"

Cas takes a deep breath, trying to stop the babble, "if I came back to the hospital and broke it off with you, he said he'd let the paperwork through. I know it was wrong of me to do that still, I know now I should have documented and reported the incident. I acted rashly. I was emotional, and didn't think. But I'm building a case against him, with help, so soon he should be out of office and unable to hurt anyone again."

Dean's quiet for a long moment, and Cas can't very well blame him, it all sounds so ridiculous when he says it out loud.

_"I…I need some time."_

Cas swallows and nods, "Yeah…yeah, okay."

_"Listen, this isn't—I'm not saying no, Cas, I just. You should have come to me, Cas, you should have—"_ Dean clears his throat, _"sorry. I'm not mad, it's, it's a lot to take in."_

"Time," Cas reiterates, throat feeling raw.

_"Yeah, time."_ Dean repeats, _"I'll, um, talk to you later?"_

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

_"Okay, great. I'm gonna…"_

The line clicks off and Cas breathes out one long breath. He lets his phone drop and goes to stand, surprised to find his food asleep. He lets his mind focus on the pins and needles sensation. He's not sure what he should be feeling. Dean called him. They talked. Things aren't _better_, but they're better than they were. Perhaps it's best to sleep on it. Cas nods to himself, decided, and makes his way back to his bed, hoping for clarity in the morning.

* * *

I have a new obsession-iced chai. seeings how I got this out in a (semi) timely manner, I think I'll go get one, yeah? Anyway, hope you like it!


	25. Meeting

Dean runs his hand over his face, glad that he waited until after dinner with Jess, Sam and Bobby to make this call. Dinner had been nice with them, Bobby makes a mean burger, and Jess regaled a story about one of her TAs that put the room in stitches, but Dean was distracted. Too busy trying to decide if he should be psyching himself out of or psyching himself up for calling Cas. Those at the table saw his distraction, but had the decency not to mention it.

If he had been bad before, he'd hate to see how he'd have dealt with dinner _after_ this shock of information. He just-he doesn't understand it. Cas _hates_ his job. And he went back there because Zach decided to use Dean as leverage?

And that actually _worked_?

Dean knows he means a lot to some people. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, _Sammy, _Sarah, Jess, hell, Benny's always up for hanging out when he's not on a tour. Lisa too, maybe, once. But to think that he's important to Cas, important enough that the guy who lived by the rule book would drop it on a dime and act on emotion and not the fine print?

Dean didn't know if he should be flattered or terrified about how he was going to mess this kid up next. If it weren't for him, Cas would never been put in this situation, or hell, even if he was, he would have reported it right off for sure, not staged his own kind of resuce.

But... then Cas would still be with a job he hates, a job that apparently has corrupt superiors, and he could have been the fall guy. Or hell, he could have just continued doing his job; content enough but never really happy.

Dean's not sure, he has no idea what way this could have played out that would have been better, or worse and _God_ did Cas really do that for him?

Dean sighs up at the ceiling, glad to have the apartment to himself to _think_. Sam's at Jess' again, and Dean's just waiting for Sam to tell him that he'll be living with Jess from now on if that's okay?

God, Dean's supposed to be the big brother, yet Sam does more fussing than anyone, he swears.

Dean flicks the tab on his beer, eyes searching the room for a distraction. He wants to think, to get this all straightened out in his head, but a part of him thinks it's too big, too much and just wants to avoid it forever. He wants back with Cas, god does he want to. But-

But it hurt so bad when Cas just waltzed out, and yeah, now Dean knows that it wasn't Cas' doing, not really, doesn't change the fact that Dean was hurt as all hell. That the pain in his chest and the buzzing in his head weren't directly related to Cas leaving. And yeah, it still hurt, but it had gone down to a dull ache. Does Dean really want to open himself up to that again? To put that much power in someone else's hands? He'd been useless at first, right after, can he afford to have that happen again?

_But_ didn't Cas give him another chance after he'd been a monumental douchebag and ignored him for so long? No one had force Dean to do _that_, that had been all him and some warped idea of what it meant to be a man. Didn't Cas deserve better than that though? Someone who might not drop him because of some relapse of gay-panic?

He doesn't think that would happen, but, well, Dean's a GED holder working odd hours at two jobs to put his brother through college because he's not smart enough to go himself. He's not _going _anywhere. He's got half-way decent goals that all he does is back out on.

Cas doesn't seem to care about that, hell, he went out with him when he was nothing more than the coffee guy, but he'll get fed up soon enough, and then Dean will be right back where he started, hurt and useless.

Dean downs the rest of his beer, the swell of anger, frustration, sadness and hopelessness making the drink taste bitter. He can't deal with this—he just, he can't. Bed. He'll sleep. It won't fix anything, he's not going to magically have an answer in the morning, but being half-drunk and sleep deprived isn't doing him any favors.

* * *

"I just really hope they figure it out," Jess sighs, "I haven't even really _met _Cas yet and I already know he did wonders for Dean."

"I can vogue for Dean being good for Cas too," Makia says, lifting her glass in emphasis, "when, of course, they're not being obtuse and miscommunicating."

The two woman sigh into their respective cups of caffeine. Jess was pulling an all-nighter getting her paper done for her language requirement—an essay in french about colonialism, and Makia happened upon her in her quest for coffee, hoping to wake herself up fully before she starts her shift at three in the morning.

To Jess' delight, Makia is fluent in french and has been editing her (admittedly bad) attempts at expressing complex ideas in a language she still couldn't fully wrap her head around. Thank God she dropped linguistics when she did. After a bit of peer reviewing, the two's conversation went over the standard fair before devolving into talk of Dean and Cas. The two men were important to both women, and the world-weary faces each were seeing was less than heart-warming.

When Makia told Jess why it was that Cas had called an abrupt end to their relationship, Jess couldn't hide her shock.

"Dean does know about the whole Adler incident, right?" Jess asks as she fixes the gender agreement for the third time in the same sentence.

"He should, Cas' been trying to get in touch with him about it."

Jess nods, "Sam told me about getting Cas' number at the Roadhouse. And tonight at dinner, Dean seemed on the verge of doing something either very stupid or brave. So hopefully he called him back."

Makia gave an amused huff at that.

"I hear _you're _with someone now?" Jess side-eyed Makia, a smile on her face.

Makia's lips twitched up without her consent, "One of the nurses at the hospital. He usually works with the infants. His name's Uriel."

"Oh-ho!" Jess winks exaggeratedly, "good with kids, works as a nurse, doesn't seem to mind that you're the breadwinner..."

"And what about you and Sam? Doing well?"

"Both a little worn out from classes," she gestures to her computer, "and Sam's worried about Dean, but we're good."

"Good to hear." the two women smile at each other, content.

"Oh, hey, I'm thinking of signing up for these self-defense classing at the gym by Quarry Plaza, if I recruit a friend we both get it half off," Makia wiggles her eyebrows, nudging Jess in the side, "beating stuff up is always a great way to get all this stress out!"

Jess laughs, "Sounds good to me."

* * *

Cas is awoken three days later by his phone and he's out of bed, blearily saying hello before he knows what happening. Dean hadn't called back yet, but he had texted. Little meaningless things, but the line of communication's still there. Cas tries to keep hope in that, at least.

"It's time—we're finally good! Victor's got everything ready and the director is going to meet with us today!" Makia's voice is almost giddy and Cas is reminded that she switched her shift to the early one at the hospital, something about a class, though it's seven, she's been up since three at least.

"Huh?" is his verbose answer.

Cas can almost hear Makia roll her eyes, "get over here! Zachariah's going to be chained up and thrown away—Cas, you did it, this is finally going to be over!"

"...why didn't you just talk to Victor about the case instead of me telling you everything all the time?" Cas asks, but he's already moving, balancing his phone between his shoulder and cheek so he can change as they talk.

"Because, _technically_, I'm not really allowed to know what's going on," she doesn't sound sheepish in the least, "stop with the interrogation, Cas, it's going to be _over."_

Cas' chest bubbles with excitement and hope, feed from Makia's obvious joy. He tries to keep it under control, but a smile forces it's way to his face.

"I don't want to get too excited," Cas pulls on his shirt, buttoning it up, "Zachariah might have something else under his coat."

"Up his sleeve."

"Exactly, and I don't want to be disappointed when that happens," he pulls on his trench coat, not bothering with his suit jacket, Makia hums in understanding on the other end of the line.

"Okay, sure, but we're gonna get him today."

It's Cas' turn to roll his eyes, habit picked up from Makia's expressive nature, "I'll be in shortly."

"Great, okay, head straight for the director's office, okay? See you!"

The bus ride to work always felt longer than it's twenty minutes. Today it is a glacial pace, the bus having to stop at every stop, men and woman in walkers slowly descending and ascending the stairs. By the time Cas is saying a polite hello to Rachael before going into Michael's office, he's frazzled.

Michael is as put together as always, Joshua a silent guardian behind him, though the man does give Cas a small smile, reminiscent of his time in Cas life in his youth. Victor is sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, Becky occupying the seat to his right. Makia isn't in the room, and it surprises Cas, but if she's not supposed to know much about this...

Michael gestures to the last remaining seat, on Becky's right, and Cas sinks into gracelessly, fingers twitching where he has them pulled into his lap.

"There may be something to your claim," Michael says, down to business as always, but Cas sees it in the set of his eyes; Michael already knows they're right. He wants to see the extent of Zachariah's deceit, needs to know to what extent Zachariah has hurt his hospital, his life's work.

Victor opens his case file, Becky nods rapidly. Cas watches it all unfold.

Zachariah is not, as Makia predicted, in chains by the end of the morning. He _is_ in a holding cell at the local precinct demanding to speak with his lawyer.

And by the end of the day, Cas is no longer an employee of Saint Claire's Mercy Hospital. Cas in unemployed and thrilled with it.

* * *

hey guys. yeah, it's been a while, yada yada.

friendly reminder: asking/encouraging someone to update soon is different than threatening and/or attempting to guilt and/or demanding an update soon. they're different in that the first is lovely and the latter is kinda unacceptable. So don't do it. It doesn't exactly inspire. And if I don't update as quick as you'd like, it's not to spite you, it's kinda because I have other stuff going on.

Seriously, I'm grateful that so many people are reading and enjoying this, and kind reviews are absolutely wonderful, but when it gets to the point where I'm getting some nasty messages... I don't deserve it, no one does.


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